The Flamel Experiments
by andre.scutieri
Summary: A King of absolute power. A Black Queen of bloody knowledge. A White Queen of dangerous beauty. A Red Queen of never-ending violence. A new world for the Court. And a new world for the Flamel Experiments. [HP/HG/GW/DG Dark AU]
1. Prologue

The Minister of Magic position had a lot of perks, but also some unpleasantness bundled in. One could argue that the prestige, luxury and attention easily outshone the never-ending meetings, the full-time politicking and the natural distrust people have of politicians. But one would be wrong to say so, for the unpleasant part of being the Minister of Magic wasn't the talk, the bribing or the hate — those things were field game for a natural politician, and one would need to be a natural player if one wanted to achieve the highest chair in their government. No, the true dark side of the job was the yearly Azkaban inspection.

Most people thought Azkaban was a horrible place. It wasn't, truly. No words could convey what Azkaban was, and if there were such words, they could only be part of the Dementors' language. History books could teach that the magical prison once was a fortress built by a long-forgotten Dark Lord, whose ultimate fate was to be locked for a century in his own dungeon. But dusty old tomes couldn't explain how the dark magic seeped into the very flagstones the fortress was built with. They couldn't build the picture of darkness and dismay the narrow corridors evoked so naturally, or the sense of danger and pure, loathing hate that the walls themselves emanated. Only one book ever could convey perfectly what the chilling air and damp stone, constant darkness and the smell of death in the air could do to one's mind, and the book was promptly tossed in the fire by its own author.

The fortress of Azkaban was hell on Earth, even with the Dementors long gone. Disbanded, after aligning with the Dark Forces, dispelled forever to some forgotten nest only they would know. But even if light now shone brightly upon Britain after their departure, nothing could really make Azkaban less haunting, draining and depressing. It was said once that the Ministry never really allocated the Dementors there, for they weren't the guardians of Azkaban. They were mere its _consequence_.

The inspection always happened at the coldest nights. Not by design, but because it was always cold and dark there, and the presence of something foreign to the fortress surely could make it colder. Not only figuratively, but literally, as any person who held the position of Minister could attest. The inky waters of the Black Sea would frozen up around the tiny island if not by the constant tempests that ravaged the fortress. And, almost floating in the pure darkness and cold and hate, there was a small boat, with but a light, a Minister and an Auror.

His name was Roland, and he was forty-five. An Auror could make a lot of mistakes during his career, and a long sequence of them landed Roland with this job. It was his fourth year in Azkaban duty, and he had seen enough to never be able to sleep soundly again. He also had a strange tick, a kind of wince he would have at the most random moments. He also constantly touched everything around him, to the wet mast to the fledging enchanted light to his own salt and pepper hair to the Ministry's coat, as if anything could disappear at any moment. It was his fourth year in Azkaban duty, and he was one of the sanest men there.

The Minister was tall, lanky and grey-haired. It was his first inspection, and he sure missed his well-lit, well-decorated, bone-warming office. Many things could be said about that Minister, but Roland wasn't one for politics anymore. He had taken two other Ministers to Azkaban while doing his job, and thought nothing about it. Truly fleeting things, those Ministers. Coming and going too fast for him to care. He was sure the man with the fancy coat would soon be just another picture in the wall, while Roland would still be on Azkaban duty.

He steered the little boat, ice-cold waves crashing around the little vessel, as if testing the charms around it. One bold wave sprung upon them, but the water was blocked by the invisible shield, pouring around them as if they were inside a sphere. The Minister had screamed at it, and Roland enjoyed a laugh hidden under the sound of ravaging sea. He felt a shiver, as if a dead body brushed dead cold fingers against his back.

"We crossed the ward line", he yelled, his voice faint against the fury of the waters. The Minister glanced up, frightened and wet — the shield could only hold part of the waves. Roland felt his wet socks stealing the warmth from his body, but he dared not use magic in the sea. "Just a few more minutes, sir."

The other man said something, but Roland payed no attention. He held up his arm, his old wand pointing up. Frost was setting at the bottom of the vessel, the Auror touched the mast, the Minister, the border of the boat and his own chest. Everything still in place.

" _Lumus_ ", muttered him. The cold white light at the point of his wand flicked, but held. He kept it for almost a minute, them extinguished it, lighted again, counted, extinguished and repeated. High in the darkness of the storm, a blue ball of light appeared, signalling where Azkaban was supposed to be.

"What is that?" cried the Minister, almost falling on his butt when the boat rocked.

"The lighthouse shows us the way", he yelled back, manoeuvring the boat with his wand. That took a lot of concentration, as the cold made his hand numb and his movements jerky. He winced, touched the mast, the Minister, his own hand, himself. Everything still in place.

"I've never seen it, you know", the Minister yelled, probably trying to hide his fear under small talk. Roland counted in his head, waved the wand, touched everything. "Azkaban, I mean. What does it look like?"

"You will see in a minute, sir", said the Auror, his voice lost to the wind. He waved his wand like a maestro, them suddenly opened his arms. Darkness enveloped them, the Minister screamed, waves crashed, a thunder was heard, and then only silence.

The boat floated calmly over frosty waters, and attached itself to a small pier. A thick rope snaked their way and tied itself on a ring just at the front of the little vessel. Roland applied a warming charm to himself and stepped out.

"Sir?" called him, seeing the Minister standing still in the centre of the vessel. "We arrived."

Shaking his head, the man flickered his wand and his fancy coat became dry, he stepped out the boat uncertainly. He still looked up, in a daze.

"It looks like… A giant box?" muttered him. Roland touched the man, touched himself, touched his wand.

"It looks like a giant dong", he muttered back, the Minister gave a short laugh, and followed him. The night was calm around them, at the small port, but there was no moon and no stars above them. If not for the trail of torches floating high over their heads, they would be lost in seconds. Azkaban loomed near, tall, dark and all edged, a squarish tower piercing the darkness. Light seeped from the door, but the rest of the fortress was enveloped in shadows.

Another Auror welcomed them at the door, with a gruff. He was seated behind a rickety desk, holding a chipped cup, looking like a pile of dirty robes with a very ugly, very round and very bald head on top. His nose ran, and he sucked it back noisily.

"Archibald", greeted Roland, with a nod. He touched the desk, the Minister, the cup, himself. "The Minister and I are here for the inspection."

"Wand", grumbled him, pushing a device forward, like an old kitchen scale. A single metal plate over a coppery box, Roland dropped his wand on the plate, and a long strip of parchment was spat out the machine. Archibald took a look at it and pocket it. He took a sip from his cup. The Minister placed his own wand on the device.

"Everything's in order, have a good evening", mumbled the Auror. Roland gestured for the Minister to follow him. Archibald placed a well-worn wooly cap on his bald head. It had paw prints stitched on it, with the words "I luv me daddy" above it. The man spat on the ground.

"This way, sir", lead Roland, walking up a set of stone stairs. Torches sprung to life when they were near, but extinguished silently after they passed. "Careful on the steps, they are wet."

There were some doors to the left and to the right of the stairs, but they passed them without a glance. The ministry inspection wasn't held for the poor sods who had stolen the neighbour's chicken or summoned a Muggle's wallet out of his pocket. Those at the lowest level would stay there for three months to the max. No, the Minister was there to the ones at the top of the fortress, those who would call Azkaban their lair for the rest of their lives.

Roland was puffing, so it meant the Minister was almost dead on his feet. The Auror took a flask from his pocket, touched everything around him, and took a sip. Warmth spread inside his body. He took pity on the taller man, and offered the Firewhisky. The Minister took a long gulp and returned it, showing him an uncertain smile. Roland tapped the iron door with his wand, and pushed it.

Murmurs rose from the cells, the torches blinding the residents of the first wing. The Minister took a look at the gaunt, bone-dry faces, their wide, crazy eyes and filthy hairs and clothes. A woman was crying at the corner of her cell, rocking a bundle of rags as if a baby.

"Who is that?" he muttered, discreetly pointing the poor lass.

"Mrs. Wittman", answered Roland, approaching the cell. "Been here for five years, if memory serves me right."

"She lost her child?"

Roland gave the Minister a sinister smile.

"Killed it, an Avada at point blank on the head. The husband had just found out the baby wasn't his, but a Muggle's. Mrs. Wittman poisoned the man before he could ask for divorce, then killed the child. The Aurors _stupefied_ her before she could kill herself. Spitting mad, I reckon, probably was even before coming here. One need to be mad to lay with a Muggle, mum's always said."

The Minister shuddered, but kept pace with the Auror. Others in the cells where crying or talking, but he didn't ask about them. They approached around round of stairs, and went up in silence. Roland locked the door behind them. He unlocked the next one, at the next floor, and the Minister quickly inspected the wing, pacing fast and not looking to the sides. Roland locked it and up they went.

Even the Auror was tired now, but there wasn't much more to inspect. He took a long breath before the next door, took a sip from his flask, the Minister took another, and the man unlocked the Upper Wing. This time, there was no light to spring to life, and Roland held a _lumos_ for them to see. The wing was devoid of cells, except for a single one. That was different, though, and instead of simply being dark, wet and empty, this one held a small bed, a tiny open bathroom and a worn rug inside.

There was movement, and a young woman stepped into the wand light. Roland had already seen her hundreds of times before, but he reacted exactly like the Minister, holding his breath and feeling something pulsing inside him.

She gave them a very saucy smile, and Roland felt himself going hard, even with all that cold.

"Hello boys", her voice was like warm honey. The Minister took a step forward, but Roland caught his arm and forced him back. "Awn, please do come near. I don't bite."

"I have my doubts", retorted the Auror, pulling the Minister along. He touched the man, the coat, the cell, the lock, his wand and himself, but dared not touch the woman. Strange lights danced in her eyes. "The Minister is here for the inspection, step away from the door."

"I think we are done here", coughed the other man, glancing nervously from the woman to the Auror, to the far away door at their backs. "Let's move to the next wing."

Roland closed the door quietly.

"I thought the upper wings were the harshest", muttered the Minister while they went up. "She doesn't seen too roughed up."

She didn't seen roughed up at all, completed Roland in his head. It was difficult going upstairs with a hard on, and he knew things wouldn't be better up there.

"She's the White Queen, a demon in a woman's body. There is nothing we could do to her that she hadn't done before. We can only keep her magically restricted and content, sir. You really don't want her to get roughed up."

"I don't see the point of a prison keeping its inmates content, Auror."

Roland looked the man in the eye.

"On her first week, one of the younger Aurors went to give her food. She was bored, he stepped too close. We don't know what she told him, but we can suppose. He opened the cell… She skinned him alive. We found here seating in the middle of her cell, door unlocked, wearing his skin as a coat. Then we negotiated some improvements to her cell."

"She didn't try to scape? Why?"

"Said it wasn't worth it without her friends."

Roland unlocked the door. He gave the Minister another smile.

"We are going to visit one of them now, be prepared."

"Before that… What kind of improvements she demanded?"

"Well, sir, a bed, a rug, a bathroom, three dresses, three coats, three blankets and a box of toys."

"Toys?"

"Sir, Auror Madalene got them, I have no idea what's inside the box. But we hear her most nights, even from way down, at our lounge."

"Playing?"

"Moaning. Come on, we need to finish the inspection before the sun rises."

He pushed the door open, and they found another empty wing, except for a single cell. This one had a bed too, a bathroom, a rug, a set of shelves, a desk and a chair. There was a woman working there, but the Auror signalled for them to be quiet. They took a long look around, closed the door and took the stairs again.

"Was that the Black Queen?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was she doing? Writing?"

"After the incident with the White Queen, we decided to ask the Black what she wanted to be more comfortable. She asked for books, so the Head Warden thought it would be funny to grant her request, but gave her only blank books. It was before my time, but the guy who showed me the ropes told me she just shrugged it off, and started to write on them."

"And…?"

"The guys took some of them to read, maybe to find if she is confessing her crimes, something like that. They never did, you know."

"I know. Personally".

"Off course, sir. I forgot. Well, cutting it short, the boys found the books are written in some sort of runes, we can't make head or tails of them. Sent them all to the Department of Mysteries, but never heard about them anymore. Some think she's just writing bullshit, all alone in the dark."

"And what you think, Auror?"

Roland unlocked the next door.

"I think we are lucky we can't read them."

The next wing had a single cell once again, but its occupant was sleeping soundly. Once again there was a bed, rug, bath and desk set. There were also some rough drawings, stuck to the wet walls. There was a single everlasting candle on the desk, the only wing that was nothing in pure darkness.

"I… thought she would be the last."

"I'm sorry, sir, but we are just following your predecessor's routine."

"Is… Is she being taken care of?"

"She asked for these, and… Well, she asked for a cat. To keep her company. It was three years ago, sir. I think the Head Warden wanted to gather favour with you, sir, so he granted her a kitten."

"Let's not disturb her sleep."

Roland closed the door.

"The Red Queen—"

"Don't call her that."

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't use names up here. Some say it's dangerous, that it can grant them powers."

"Superstition, I guarantee. She was my sister, you know."

"I do, sir. I'm really sorry."

They reached the next door, this one had bolts around it, all the way up to the ground. Each bolt had a padlock. Roland took his third shot of Firewhiskey and rubbed his hands.

"This is the last one, sir. It will take some minutes to open, please hold my flask."

"Auror?"

"Yes, sir?"

"About the kitten. Do I want to know what happened to it?"

"No, sir."

The Minister turned the flask bottom up, drowning the last of the alcohol. Roland unlocked the padlocks and with a gesture from his wand all the bolts opened. The door whined loudly, and the room was incredibly cold. Their respirations fogged before their faces, their boots cracking the thin blade of ice on the floor. There was light inside the uppermost wing in Azkaban, but it produced no warmth.

The Minister approached the thing at the middle of the humongous room. It looked like a black metal box, 16 feet all around. It held no door, no window or bar, and looked solid. Vapour raised from it, as if it was hot.

"What is this?"

"The King's cell", muttered Roland, wincing. He didn't dare even to touch the Minister now, but his fingers danced unquietly. "The food is banished through the cell, we must keep away from it."

"How do you even know he is inside?"

"We can feel his magic inside it, the cell contains most of it, but some irradiates, that's why we must not get too close to it. Man have died."

"He shouldn't be able to do magic here! What if he is communicating? Or, I don't know, possessing people from distance? He could be doing anything there!"

"It's impossible to communicate with the outside if not by some special owls a single Floo, Minister. The Department of Mysteries themselves forged and enchanted this cell, custom-made for the King. You don't need to worry about it. Let's get down to the lounge, the boys want to meet you, sir."

The door closed, the bolts gained life and went to their places. The Minister went downstairs and got weak tea, mushy biscuits and some complaints from the Aurors. Archibald bade them good morning when they left. Roland touched the dark flagstone from the doorway.

"Well, at least I don't need to do this again for five years", muttered the Minister. Roland gave him his best smile.

"I don't think I will need to do this for long, neither", he rubbed his cold hands together.

"Let's hope, my good Auror. So, where is the boat? I want to take a good bath before going to office today."

Roland touched the stone, the Minister, himself, and his wand. He leaned on the doorway. Archibald was gone.

"I didn't call for one, Minister, we won't need it."

"The Floo, then?"

"No. I closed it while you talked with the boys. And I killed all the owls this afternoon, before taking the boat to get you, sir."

The Minister spluttered.

"You… killed? The owls? Why?"

"You made many questions today, Minister. But you forgot to make the most important ones."

The lanky man inside the fancy coat raised his wand. He was shaking. It was midmorning, but Azkaban was dark and quiet as always.

"What are you saying, Auror?"

"You asked if the King could be communicating with the outside. But you forgot to ask if he was communicating with the ones inside here. You forgot to ask if I knew what the Black Queen was writing about. You forgot, Minister, to ask me if I had locked the doors after we left."

There was a loud clank, and ravens flew from hidden nests in Azkaban, croaking loudly. Auror Roland kicked the Minister's shins, and the towering man fell to the floor, his wand rolling away and disappearing in the darkness. The Auror raised his own wand, strode quickly to the fallen man and plopped down on his chest, his strong legs pinning the Minister's arms to his sides, his bony hips holding the man to the frozen earth, his wand touching the taller man just under his chin. Their eyes met, blue against cold dark. Fear against elation.

Light was pooling from the windows of the fortress, splitting the never-ending night like sharp knives. The whole island rumbled, the doors banged closed behind them, sealing themselves. Screams filled the ceasing darkness, black and purple sparks of magic popping in existence, illuminating the two men locked together.

"What's happening?" yelled the Minister, shifting wildly, trying to break free. "What have you done?"

The Auror was just too strong, too heavy, too crazy. A single spark burned the Minister's chin, and the man under got still.

"Three thousand souls, Minister, three thousand inmates. The Black Queen told me, she told me, Minister, of glories never ending. Of freedom, when was just a lad locked in one of these cells, Minister. Told me the day I left I needed to come back, not as prisoner, but as one of the wardens, she had a job for me, Minister."

Purple sparks floated around them, screams into the night, banging on the doors. Circles of light springing to life, emerging from the frozen tundra.

"Took me ten years, to be back. Then I started my job, that's what I did. Do you know how difficult is to carve runes on these flagstones? Or to draw perfect circles around the whole fortress? Of course you don't, Minister, you spent your life sucking balls to get this job, you know nothing about _hard work._ "

The Minister sputtered, but Auror Roland just shoved his wand harder against the man's throat.

"Where was I? Ah, yes, the Black Queen taught me this ritual she designed. Took me five years to complete the rune work and for Azkaban to hold the right number of inmates. Three thousand of them, one thousand souls for each Queen. Aren't you proud, Minister? Your own sister is worth a thousand wizards."

"What's this ritual?" muttered the Minister, sweat dripping from his forehead. His wand was lost, he couldn't get up, the screams were even louder, the light was pouring from between the very stones of Azkaban, the particles of dark light were circling the square tower as a hurricane.

"Dunno, exactly", shrugged the Auror. "The Queen gave me orders, not explanations. But I think it's a time-based ritual. I think the three thousand sacrifices will move them through time and space."

"Whatever they offered you, I double it! Release me now, let's get out of here!"

"No can do, sir. How can a man got double freedom? Double happiness? Double… love? I love the Black Queen, Minister, that's why I do everything she says. That's why I put my own life on her altar. They will be free, tonight, gone to a world they will call their own. A new world to conquer, my Queen says."

"But you don't need me! RELEASE ME NOW!", squeaked the Minister, trying once again to shove the Auror sideways. Roland pressed his forearm against the man's throat, holding him down, the point of his wand almost poking the man's eye. He smiled.

"Of course we do, Percy Weasley", said Auror Roland, madness dancing in his eyes. "A thousand souls for a Queen, that's the ransom. And a Minister… for a King."

Azkaban exploded in light, screams filling the air just to be swiftly cut. A rift opened in the dark sky, and Minister of Magic Percy Weasley peed his trousers. Auror Roland opened his arms, his face towards the broken fortress and the rift of dark magic, sucking everything on the island. He was floating, the particles of purple light twirling around him. He laughed, endlessly, while the souls of the damned were destroyed to be used in the ritual.

"For the Court!" he yelled. The very frozen earth under them was being sucked into the rift. Percy Weasley saw it approaching. He saw his sister's face in his mind eye, and her two friends, and her dark master. He saw the broken metal box that was once his prison, the twisted cells that feasibly had tried to hold the monsters called the Three Queens. He saw his face, the cold face of the King, the Bearer of Darkness, Bad Omen himself, Kinslayer and Stone Holder. He saw him for the last time, so even if names did have power, nothing worse could happen now. So he said it, as his last act as Minister of Magic.

"Fuck you, Harry Potter."

Then he saw nothing more.

* * *

Here we are once again! I'm sorry about dropping Deadly Lips unexpectedly, but I had some personal problems and got really busy all of sudden. But fear not, for Deadly Lips WILL be updated. I'm posting this one just for the heck of it, so I'm not going to set schedules or anything like that. I hope to update both stories soon, as my winter vacations is approaching.

As you can tell for this, I'm not an English speaker, so I'm sorry in advance for all the spelling and grammatical errors. I'm studying for my English exams, so I hope this ride is going to be less bumpy in time, as I learn the finest points of your language ;D

Cheers!

EDIT: Psych0Geek warned me my punctuation was horribly wrong. The thing is, as a non-native English speaker, I'm not used to marking dialogues with quotation marks, so I just went with it. I corrected (hopefully) all the punctuation mistakes, and some grammar errors. Thank you Psych0Geek for the warning and I hope to get it right as the story goes. Sorry you all for the mistakes!


	2. Diagon Alley

Harry Potter woke up in a puddle of light. His body ached, but in a different way he was used to, as if he had just slept on the hard floor instead of being chained inside a sealed box. He felt warm, he felt itchy and he felt free. So, for the first time in almost fifteen years, he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a half-giant soundly sleeping on a broken sofa. While his eyes tried to interpret that sight, his ears told him he was near the ocean, inside a wooden house, with people sleeping soundly upstairs. Probably a woman, a very overweight male child and a barn animal. No, correct that, a man who sounded like a barn animal.

"The Dursleys, then", muttered him, standing up. A huge fur coat slipped from his shoulders, pooling around him. A half-giant's coat. He scrunched his face, and tried to remember what the hell was happening.

Memories flooded his brain, memories of a life at the same time his and some stranger's. He was just eleven, he had lived with his relatives, they hated them. He had been beaten, starved, locked inside a goddamn cupboard and if rain fell down in Africa it was sure his fault, the Freak. Harry sighed, alleviated, everything was in order.

But then, three weeks before, all his memories diverged. He had found a Hogwarts' letter on the ground, when Professor McGonagall once had came to his place to give it to him personally. The Dursleys tried to run from the letters, and instead of swift bloodbath, Hogwarts just kept sending them more invitation, like some silly child story. The night he turned 11, they sequestered themselves in a tiny hovel at the peak of a rock in the Black Sea. The storm came, as came this half-giant, Hagrid, with his letter. Then things got even weirder.

His Aunt had talked about his mother with contempt and jealousy, instead of fear. And what she said… His mother, happy and carrying toads on her pockets? Twirling spells for their parents to see? He never heard something like this. He never heard about a single muggle parent who had asked his child to do magic near them. He had heard of muggle parents vacationing in Australia when their child came home from Hogwarts, leaving behind just a full fridge and a bunch of excuses, like Hermione's. A tapping on the window interrupted his thoughts.

There was an owl there, big, mean and impatient. It was carrying a roll of paper and a little leather purse attached to its leg. Oh, the Prophet. Maybe he would find answers there. He took a look at the roll, finding the price to be the same as he knew. The boy returned to the coat, pawned around, and found five knuts. He placed them inside the purse, took one of the papers, and bid the owl goodbye. He liked owls. Harry hoped he would find Hedwig once again in this strange new world.

He spared a thought for his three girls. He hoped they were safely back, and weren't making too much trouble. He also hoped they would gather soon, even if just to make sure Ginny hadn't killed her whole family. Harry closed the window, and cringed when his reflection looked him back.

Instead of the man he once was, a tiny boy looked at him. Oversized bangs, frail face, stupid glasses, too-big clothes, a wiry, underfed body. He untied the piece of string he had as belt, moving the front of his trousers away from his body and took a look. He winced. The girls would kill him.

He tied his trousers back, took a seat on the coat, glanced at the still sleeping man, and started to read the newspaper. It was, in fact, the first clue he was in a different world, even if the similarities were striking. The Daily Prophet was a piece of trash filled with Ministry-approved propaganda, that was for sure, and Harry thought that these kind of things were kind of essential for a coherent universe to exist: things fall towards the ground, the Earth goes around the sun, people kill each other, newspapers were unreliable. All was fine in God's green Earth.

The headline was about a very interesting case involving a muggle, a drunk wizard and a cursed man-eating trash can. Arthur Weasley gave a small quote about the incident, Amelia Bones reported the wizard got his fingers back, but would spent the week in Azkaban, and Lucius Malfoy put a very acid quote about muggles and their disturbing need to get in trouble. Harry filled a lot of mental checkboxes with just a single news piece, comparing the two worlds. Arthur still loved muggles and their affairs, the Daily Prophet couldn't report accurately what a muggle trash can was, Amelia Bones was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Malfoy was a prick. Nothing new, Harry started to doubt if he really was in a different world.

But it was a single foot note, at the last page, under a huge ad for Griselda's Matchmaking Gizmos, that Harry found the first important disturbance between the worlds. For the small note simply said "Harry Potter turns 11 today - lucky wizards may spot him in Diagon Alley soon". Now, concluded Harry, chance is this Daily Prophet has a birthday-of-the-day section, something he highly doubted, or…

"Ya awoke yet?" grumbled Hagrid, straightening himself, under the loud protests of the couch. "W'ere did ya got that?"

"An owl brought it, Mr. Hagrid", said Harry, folding the paper and placing it on his lap. He realised he was already slipping on his cover, so quickly patched up the story. "I saw it was carrying newspapers, so I took one. It screeched and I saw I needed to pay for it, so I took a look at your coat and found some money."

"Hum, ya certain ya paid it right?"

"It says 5 knuts at the top of the paper, and the small purse it was carrying had only bronze coins on it, so I gave it five of them. I'm sorry for reading your paper, I was bored and didn't want to disturb you, Mr. Hagrid."

The giant showed Harry a smile, even if it was hard to say under all his beard.

"No problem, 'n I should thought ya're an intelligent boy. Would make your mum proud, I tell ya. She was quick on the uptake, too."

It was the first nice thing he had ever heard someone say about his mother in both timelines, and Harry smiled unconsciously. Hagrid gave a short laugh.

"'N drop the Mr. Hagrid business, will ya? Makes me feel old."

Harry laughed at that, and nodded. They ate cold sausages for breakfast, before going outside, the door falling from its hinges once again. This time, Hagrid left it as it was, and took the little boat they all had come in before. Hagrid told him he'd been expelled from Hogwarts himself, so he wasn't allowed to do magic. Nevertheless, Harry turned a blind eye when the giant removed a horribly pink umbrella from his pocket, touched the boat and it shot up, almost floating over the calm waves. Harry supposed the pieces of Hagrid's wand were inside the object. It would make any spell quite wonky, but a least the man could do some magic with it, and it was an untraced wand. The boy had returned the coat to the giant man, and was shivering lightly against the salty breeze while Hagrid read the newspaper.

"Hagrid? There is a note on the last page, reporting I've turned eleven, even if the date is wrong. Why are people so interested in me?"

Hagrid grunted, took a look at the offending one-liner, and sighed.

"How 'bout we talk 'bout it after shoppin', huh? Maybe over sum ice-cream?"

Harry kept his irritation out of his face, and nodded. He needed to remember he was eleven once again, and couldn't threaten a blind owl while looking like this. He needed to plan his next moves carefully, or else he would be shoved back to Azkaban, or worse. He also needed to look like a clueless muggle-raised child, so he asked the obvious.

"Where are we going? Where can we buy all these things?"

"Diagon Alley, 'course. Best shoppin' district in all England. Ya'll love it."

Harry did look forward to the Alley. He needed a wand, even if he was quite proficient doing magic without it. He needed supplies, or else he would arrive at Hogwarts looking like a scrawny rut. He needed money, even if he knew his parents vault would be empty, the Ministry of Magic ransacking it under the pretence of compensation for war crimes. His last time around, Harry had stepped into a empty compartment only to find a scribble on the wall, hidden to anyone but a Potter, with the numbers of an Evans vault. If not by his mother's secret stash, Harry would have gone to Hogwarts like a pauper, for the Dursleys wouldn't spend a broken coin with him.

The sea water was moving too fast around the boat, but some had pooled under his feet. Harry leaned over, and took a look at the water puddle. A skinny and underfed face looked back at him, huge green eyes hidden by broken and scratched glasses, a mop of unruly raven hair at the top. Long bangs hiding his forehead, where a long, thin scar shaped like a lightening rested. Harry touched it, tracing it. A part of him, the young and scared part that had resided alone in that body for eleven years recognised the scar as a constant presence, something his Aunt Petunia had told him was the result of the car crash which had killed his parents. But the older, mature presence in him that was once a king and a prisoner couldn't recognise it. His past life held a lot of scars, but none shaped like a lightening bolt.

Hagrid was looking at him curiously, so Harry gave him a nervous smile, stepped on the puddle, and looked towards the pier fast approaching. There were questions dancing in Harry's mind, but he knew the answers would come in time.

They went into the city, then took a cab to the nearby train station. Harry handled the money, as Hagrid said wizards used their own monetary system and found the muggle one confusing. Harry bought tickets to London at Hagrid's instruction, and so they went. It took a long time for they to get to the other side of the country, but Hagrid was knitting a very large orange wool blanket and Harry didn't want to disturb him. Also, they were attracting enough glances just for the half-giant occupying three seats, so Harry avoided questioning him. Instead, feeling tired from the restless night and the amount of magic the ritual demanded, he slept through most of the trip.

Hagrid nudged him when they arrived, and Harry saw the sun almost at its highest. His belly grumbled, so half-giant and undersized kid had lunch in Charring Cross, in a very small café. Harry almost asked why couldn't they lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, but his brain remembered he shouldn't know about it yet. So he ate his sandwich, keeping an eye on the other side of the road, where the old and decrepit bar sat smugly between clean and sparkling stores. People walked in front of it, their eyes jumping from one display from another, without even bothering to glance at the dingy bar. During the forty minutes they had lunch, only a single man walked inside the Cauldron. Harry found it very, very strange.

Hagrid asked him if he could see it, and the boy nodded, so they went it. The place was very dark, the candles and torches not giving enough light. It was cramped with small, round tables and mismatched chairs and stools. Wizards and witches had lunch, but there was only a handful of them. Behind the counter, Old Tom was polishing a huge glass cup with a very dirty rag. A man was drinking at the bar, but not a single one of the patrons even glanced at the half giant coming in.

Until the small raven-haired boy stepped in. There was a crash of a glass being dropped, and Tom put his dirty hag to his chest.

"Good Merlin, it's Harry Potter."

Deafening silence covered the whole bar, before a wave of people scrambled from their chars and stools and mobbed the newcomer duo. Some could even elbow Hagrid out of the way, just to hold Harry's hand in a firm shake, just to touch his arms and chest or even face, just to excitedly shout words that jumbled together in his mind. Harry stepped back, unsure what the hell was happening, and one enormous hand held him close, protectively.

"Step back," shouted Hagrid, waving his other hand and knocking down a small witch unintentionally. "Step back ya'll, give the boy sum space."

"Hagrid, what's happening?" muttered Harry, Hagrid showed him an unsure smile.

"We're jus passing tru, young 'Arry needs to buy 'is supplies. Tom! 'Old your patrons, will ya?"

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle." said a small man wearing a horribly mauve top hat, performing a deep bow.

Harry, still bewildered by all that, trust him his hand and gave him a handshake. Almost immediately, Diggle was pushed out of the way by a witch who introduced herself as Doris Crockford, starting a long and roughly organised line of people who wanted to meet him. It took the best part of half an hour for him to meet every single witch and wizard in the pub, ending with a very nervous-looking lanky man who seemed almost scared of his own shadow.

"Oh," said Hagrid, tapping Harry's shoulder. "Tis is ya new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, 'Arry. How ya goin', Professor Quirrel?"

By his face, he was going to piss himself in fear. Harry trusted his hand, but the professor seemed not to notice, instead he gave Harry a very shaky smile.

"I-i-it's a p-p-pleasure, Mr. P-p-p-otter." He stuttered. Harry almost rolled his eyes at it. How could a Defence professor be so wimpy? Hagrid bade them all goodbye, and guided Harry through a backdoor, leading them to a small courtyard comprised of a tall back wall and two dented trashcans.

"What happened to Professor Quirrel, Hagrid? He seemed almost scared of meeting us."

Hagrid shook his head sadly, before wielding the pink umbrella.

"He is a very gentle soul, ya know. Muggle Studies professor, 'til the year before last. Went to sum sort of sabbatical in Albania… He met a colony of vampires there, I reckon'. Never been the same after that."

Harry observed Hagrid tap a pattern on the stone bricks with the tip of his umbrella. There was a sound of stone scratching stone, and the portal to the shopping district formed before their eyes. Harry couldn't help but smile at it. That was real magic, in his opinion. Ancient magic imbued with true power, capable of wonders. That was his kind of magic. Hagrid shared his smile.

"Welcome, 'Arry, to Diagon Alley".

.TFE.

Harry supposed there wasn't a single reality where goblins were less grumpy. Hagrid had guided Harry through the Alley, while Harry absorbed all around them. Most of the stores he already knew were still there, others were different, be it their location, shape or contents. There was a Quidditch supply store he had never seen, and the Apothecary was at the wrong side of the Alley, but all in all everything was almost identical to his home reality. Except for the fact that the Alley seemed shorter, the stores were larger, and even if the Alley was packed, it seemed… empty. In fact, Harry had never seen it less than crowded to the brim, people going in and out stores in a mad dash, children bustling between the legs of adults, running and yelling, old hags gossiping in front of displays, pets meowing and hooting and croaking.

Gringotts was exactly like he remembered, threatening poem on the door and all. Hagrid made a spectacle in front of the Goblin, trying to find Harry's key. The Goblin, called Griphook, guided them to one of the mine carts and they shot down, so fast it seemed they were flying. Hagrid looked sick, eyes shut tight, but Harry always had loved Gringotts' thrill rides. He remembered the last time he had been there, with all his girls.

They were arguing, something about a dress and a cat. He couldn't really remember what was the problem, but he had pulled her on his lap, her eyes were shut tight too, one of the few things she still feared. He had kissed her eyelids until she opened them, and they had kissed, the lights of Gringotts passing around them, shadow and light, shadow and light, as they sped through the tunnels. He could feel her warmth in his arms, her hands on his hair, her sigh escaping her lips.

They had dragged her to a cell, in the middle of the night, still nude from their bed. They had tossed her through the Veil of death, just for her to fall to the other side of the arc, shivering and moaning in pain. They beat her, flogged her, tortured her, searching for answers. They had cut her open with their knifes and spells, trying to recover the fragments, their dirty fingers digging her wounds, while he was held in the darkness, hearing their suffering.

The mine cart stopped before a vault, and Harry realised he was holding the border so tight his hands were bleeding. The Goblin gave him a smug smirk, probably finding him weak because of the ride, but Harry stomped those memories down, relentlessly remembering they were free now, alive. Young, again, free of all the scars and wounds they had been inflicted. Never again they would need to go through that, through suffering and betrayal. He would make sure of it.

The vault was unlocked, and Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the glint of gold.

"What?" laughed Hagrid, seeing Harry's unbelieving expression. "Ya don't really think your folks'd leave ya a pauper?"

Harry shakily entered the vault, his eyes jumping from one pile of gold to the other. The money was haphazardly tossed around, as if Goblins had been coming there with a carriole full of coins and dumped them by the vault door. He looked around the small vault, roughly three times larger than his cupboard under the stairs.

"What else can one store in those vaults, Mr. Griphook?" asked Harry, without taking his eyes from the gold.

"Whatever you want," grunted the goblin by the door. "If it don't break the bank rules".

At Hagrid's urge, the young boy scooped some handful of coins and dumped them in a small leather bag, but his mind was far away, thinking about what else was under the pile. If the vault had been receiving more money in those last 11 years, that meant the money would bury whatever was in the vault before. Maybe he could find some heirloom, a reminder from his mother, anything. He needed to come back, later, without Hagrid, and better prepared to explore.

They took the mine cart again, but didn't went all the way up. Instead, the goblin stopped before another vault, for Hagrid to take his "you-know-what". Harry jumped out the cart, because everybody knew goblins weren't too careful with safety protocols, and he didn't trust the brakes of that thing. Griphook slid his crooked finger on the door, up down, and waited for it to dissolve away.

It was a very small vault, empty but for a bundle right in the middle of it, on the floor. Hagrid stepped in, took the parcel, and shoved it deep in one of his many pockets. Without a world, they went back in the cart, and shot all the way up.

They stepped out the bank to a great sunny morning. Summer was holding up, and Harry could feel the tender fingers of sunlight caressing his face. After spending most of his childhood inside a small cupboard, and the last 12 years inside a locked metal box, he rejoiced in the warm light of freedom.

He rotated his stiff shoulders, his coin bag clinking merrily. They walked towards Madam Malkin's, to buy his first robes, when Hagrid stopped. He was looking definitely green around the grills.

"How 'bout ya go in first, eh? Those frigging mine carts always make me dizzy, ya know? I'll just fetch a pick me up at the Cauldron, ya—"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off when a blur of movement collided with the boy, tackling him to the ground, hard enough for him to skid a little bit on the cobblestones. His ribs protested loudly, his face was covered by brown hair, his nose was assaulted by the smell of home. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of being loved once again.

There was once a time of his life where his plan was the most important thing in the world for him. A time when he would lash at his girls for deviating from his carefully laid out scheme, but it was lifetime ago, before he had to choose between his own freedom and theirs. A lifetime of sadness ago. Harry really tried to be angry with her for destroying most of his plan in a single hug. But he couldn't.

"Oh my god Harry I couldn't believe it was really you I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you walking towards me I had a feeling this morning I would see you but you know how much I believe in this kind of thing and it's so good to see you again you look so tiny and I can feel your ribs how long have you been here—?"

"Hermione," called Harry, shifting her around. People were looking, Hagrid was looking, but he couldn't help but smile at her incessant babbling. "Breathe".

She did so, while she released him a little. They were sitting in the ground, and he swept her wild hair from her face. Her chocolate coloured eyes captured his, her petite face overlapping the one in his memory, the woman she once was, the woman she would be. He suddenly remembered she had a very cute button nose at that time, and it was there, in her face, just like when they were kids. Well, there were kids once again, and her smile was a little different, her front teeth a little bit larger, her hair a wild bushy mess, her eyes still sparkling. He cradled her face in his tiny, weak hands, chocking in silent emotions. He had loved her with every fibre of his been, and he still loved her, even as a man in a child's body. Tears drained down his wrists, she gave a small sob and hugged him again.

"Harry?"

"Oh, sorry, Hagrid," he got up, dusting his knees. "This is my old friend, Hermione Granger".

Hagrid seemed bewildered by that, so Harry swiftly made up some story.

"We met at a school trip and we exchanged letters every since. I had no idea she was a witch".

"I've not been a witch for long," said Hermione, shaking Hagrid's huge hand. "Professor McGonagall came to my house last year and told my parents I was a witch and I was going to start Hogwarts this year. She said I was born too late for the cut off".

She smiled at Harry, tangling her fingers with his.

"When I read my books and found that there is a famous Harry Potter in this world, I thought maybe it was the only Harry Potter I knew, but Professor McGonagall told me it was a crime to tell a muggle about the wizarding world, so I didn't ask Harry about it. I'm so happy I was right!".

"And why are you here?"

"I wanted to buy more books. I already read all of the ones I bought, so I asked my mum to drop me at the Cauldron before going to work. I was eating some ice cream, oh! I left my purse there!".

Hermione shot down the alley, to a place called Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Harry laughed out loud, and looked at Hagrid, who was sporting a smile under his dark beard.

"You said you were going to the Cauldron, Hagrid? Can I wait here with Hermione?"

"'Course, 'Arry. Who would think ya'd find a friend 'ere? Go on, go on, I'll be back in a jiffy."

Harry entered the parlour, and was immediately accosted by a very old, very thin man wearing a stripped lime-green suit. Mr. Fortescue had recognised him, and was offering him anything from the store that caught his fancy. After trying to haggle the man to at least let him pay for it, Harry was gifted with a double fudge and chocolate sundae, and sat down at a little table, in front of Hermione.

"So, I think the plan went smoothly", started him, taking a scoop of iced delight from the bowl. Hermione's eyes were dancing with happiness, and her table was crammed full with books. She was reading four of them simultaneously, in fact. "When did you arrived?"

"Just this morning. I woke up at four, in my old bed at my parent's house. I looked around my room to find some clues about the day and time, while I went through my memories of this world. Harry, it's different. Everything is different, even if it looks the same to us. I had to check out the facts, so I begged for a trip here. I've been reading all morning".

"A mighty sacrifice, I reckon."

She punched his arm without raising her eyes from the book. Harry scooped more ice cream, and took his time observing her, drowning in her lithe form, her wild tresses, her cute face scrunched up in concentration.

"Ok. Here. First, what I think it's the root of all the differences. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel made a Philosopher's Stone sometime in the fourteenth century. They gained immortality and live in Paris to this day, but they never used the Stone for more than producing the Elixir".

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"No Flamel Experiments, then?"

"Never once. As history goes, they never once thought about fragmenting the Stone or using it to keep allies around. Do you realise what that means?" she didn't give him time to answer. "All those people, the Flamel's marshals, most of the Wizengamot of our timeline… They had been dead for hundreds of years! And look at this—"

She tossed an immense book over the pile, knocking her own empty ice cream bowl to the side. Harry could hardly glance at the title ( _Hogwarts: A History_ ) before Hermione started perusing it, turning the pages faster than the eye could see. She stopped.

"Hogwarts have no ranks, no signs, no army. Even the classes are just… classes. There isn't a single mention of torture chambers or ritual rooms, no executions and the last beheading in Hogwarts's grounds was in 1487. It's… It's like travelling to the past. Look at this, they have the Four Houses and that's it. You don't even have to fight to death to graduate, and the tests! Ordinary Wizarding Levels, Nearly Exhausting Wizarding Tests. One takes them at their Fifth and Seventh year, and that's it. It's… Harry, I think we have come to paradise."

Harry said nothing, just ate the last of his ice cream. She glowed like a newborn star, and it made funny things to his young again mind.

"And nobody even knows where the Stone is! Isn't it incredible?"

His hand struck, fast as the lunge of a snake, taking a fistful of her hair and gripping tightly. Hermione's eyes grew bigger as saucers, full of fear and uncertainty. A slow blush spread on her cheeks. Chocolate brown against venom green. The world around them seemed to silence, to fade into blurry shadows, until there was just their table floating in a small, lit world.

"The Philosopher's Stone is in Hagrid's coat pocket," informed Harry, through gritted teeth. He yanked the tress a little bit. "I understand your excitement about this new world, but if your senses grow dull, you will be killed. This is not a paradise, Hermione Granger, act like a Queen and not like a sugar-driven child."

She gasped, and swallowed quietly. Her gaze dropped, and her blush spread down her collar.

"I am sorry, Harry," whispered the young girl. Her eyes raised just a little bit. "Will you punish me now?"

Harry let her hair go, and the world seemed to slowly fade back in. A short laugh raised from a table at their side, a plate clattered on the ground, someone shouted for a rag.

"I'm sad to inform I won't be able to properly punish you for a few years yet, Hermione. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is still underdeveloped", Hermione giggled at that, her beautiful glow returning to her face. "But if I were to lenient, you'll probably forget your place, huh? No, don't try to deny it, we both know that, after Ginny, you're the one that loves to test your boundaries the most. Let's see… I think for being so inattentive with your surrounds — and taking advantage of our new lives — you'll hold a different role in this world".

He gestured for her, and she leaned over the pile of books. Harry whispered in her ear, making her blush, then go pale, then blush again.

"Will I have to hide my talents?" asked her, quietly.

"No. You know better than I how much a misguide can be fun. You can give your full potential in class, let's make them try to figure it out. Also, as this is your first punishment in this world, it will be the longest. Let it be a reminder of your blunder here. Understood?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Great. Tell me about Hogwarts. Is Dumbledore still Headmaster?"

"Yes. He also studied under Flamel's, at least for five years. They discovered a twelfth use for dragon's blood. I don't think Flamel shared the Elixir with him, as he is an old man in this world. He also battled a man named Grindelwald in the 40's, a Dark Lord of great power. He defeated the man, and by that I mean he didn't kill Grindelwald. Instead, the defeated Lord is locked inside his own fortress to this day. Dumbledore is seen as a beacon of Light by the wizarding world."

"Figures. Even if it's true, let's not trust him too much. He may not be a sadistic torturer who enjoys watching children battling to death, in this world, but he still are a power-hungry attention whore. If he never got the fragments, in time we'll be able to overpower him. Did you discover why am I famous?"

"I did. It seems Grindelwald wasn't the last Dark Lord around here. Probably because Flamel never became Emperor of all wizarding world, so there have been lots of power vacuums in the last centuries. A man called Voldemort—"

"Why are you whispering?"

"My books say people are afraid of saying his name to this day. In fact, only a single book _had_ his name. All the others call him You-Know-Who. As I was saying, the man terrorised this world for ten years, backing some Pureblood movement. He encouraged muggle persecution and started killing muggleborns. When the Ministry of Magic started fighting back, with Dumbledore's help, he started a killing spread, murdering everybody who entered in his path."

"Unpleasant fellow. Why didn't the Auror Corps simply kill him?"

"This world is very different from ours, Harry. Not only in numbers, but in power too. This Vol… You-Know-Who was the most powerful man around, and I don't think people here can pool their magic together. The Ministry sent lots of Aurors to battle him, but all were slaughtered. In fact, ten years ago, he was this close to become the ruler of the wizarding world."

"I'm starting to see where I come in."

"He went after your family. He found your house, when you were fifteen months old, at Halloween. He killed your father, then your mother. But when he tried to kill your, he vanished".

"Vanished? What kind of bullshit story is that?"

"They never found his body, just his clothes. The room was destroyed, most of the house was, by an explosion. There was wild magic everywhere, very dark, my books say. Dumbledore went there that night, he took care of all the funeral details. The house was locked down, and you where left somewhere safe."

"The Dursleys. Great safety measures. I would be safer inside a meat grinder."

"Dumbledore told the world you had defeated the Dark Lord. He had tried to kill you with the Avada, but you reflected his curse back. That's why they call you the Boy-Who-Lived, they simply adore you, because you freed all of them from the darkness. And they recognise you by the scar the curse left on you."

Harry touched it. Traced, slowly, a lightening bolt scratched on his forehead. Hermione had tears in her eyes, threatening to fall down. He caressed her hand.

"They also love your mother, you know. Dumbledore told them it was your mother's love that saved you. They treat her… like a saint, or something like that. Pilgrims journey every year to your old house, to lay flowers on her grave and ask her for protection to their children."

"It's… Well, it's better than last time. You know people used to visit her grave, don't you? To piss on it, but they went. It's strange for people to love her. I… I really need time to think about it."

"You know I never believe she was a mad killer. I thought… You know how our world is. Better, how it was. We were trained for it since our first step into Hogwarts. Some even before that. People resented it because she was too good at it."

"Wow, and I thought people resented her for entering their houses and skinning they alive, gutting them and beheading them for a little coin."

"Don't try to be cynic with me, Mr. Potter. Ginny may adore this… violent side of your mother, but I never thought she could be defined by it. She died for you, in both worlds, it seems. I bet she would had been a great mother, in both worlds, too."

There was a long silence.

"Thank you, Hermione. No, I'm serious, thank you. You… Well, you know you don't _need_ to go with my punishment, don't you? If you don't want, I mean."

"You are dangerously close of being lenient, _master_. You said yourself, if you don't put me in my place, who knows what can I come up with? I'll go with it, you ordered me. Also, since I've read they don't put fragments in children around here, I've been thinking how I can get my sweet little revenge."

"You know I don't like when you and Ginny fight."

"This is not fighting, _master_. I'm almost two years older than her, without the fragments to balance us out, this time it's _she_ who will be pinned under _me_. I promise I won't hurt her. Much."

Harry shook his head in defeat. Some men had thought him great for controlling three powerful women, but so little they knew! One can control a woman, one can even control a witch. But only a fool would try to control a Queen. He would be luckier trying to hold a storm than trying to reign them to some semblance of control. He felt for poor Ginny, but couldn't help to feel like she deserved it. Some thought Hermione was a very gentle soul. Harry knew her better. Ginny should never tried to take advantage of the older girl's mellowness.

"Will you punish me for tackling you to the ground? I heard what you said to Hagrid. I couldn't help myself, but now I realise I probably hurt your plans deeply."

"No. In fact, you made me realise I was being a fool. Trying to keep the timeline the same was a fool's job from the start, you said yourself how much this world is different from ours. Furthermore, even if they were very similar, I would have no control of if. I can think of some decisions that I've made that landed us in Azkaban, but who can guarantee doing different will result in a better outcome? I would be too scared of doing what's necessary, maybe even squashing this water beetle could alter drastically our world. I think I head of something like this before."

"It's called the Butterfly Effect. And you _didn't_ need to kill it for real. This is _so_ gross, Harry Potter. And _don't you dare to put it near my books!_ "

"I thought boys do this kind of things to grab the attention of the girl they like?"

Hermione gave him a very mysterious smile, but he saw her blushing a little. The whole young-again-in-another-world would be very fun. She almost wouldn't blush in the last world, and she was touching him not so discreetly all the time now, and curling a hair tress while making him doe eyes, without even realising it. It was so much fun! Well, he couldn't say he was unaffected by it, it seemed his hormones where well in other, lack of proper nutrition not withstanding. He really needed to take care of it soon.

"I want cake."

"Pardon?"

"I ate too much ice cream. I've read dozens of books for you, the entire morning. Buy me cake."

"I don't think Fortescue sells cakes, Hermione."

"Don't worry. I think you are a big boy, you are able to find cake for me around here. And toss this thing in the trash on your way out."

Hermione was reading when Hagrid arrived carrying a beautiful snowy owl inside a cage.

"Where's 'Arry?"

"He went to buy something, Mr. Hagrid. Take a seat, please, let me move these books out the table. Is this owl yours?"

"Well, I bought it for 'Arry, ya know. Think he'll like it?"

"I'm sure he will love it. What's it's name? Is it male?"

"The seller told me it's a girl. She still has no name, thought 'Arry would like to name her. So, 'ow 'ave you met, Miss Granger?"

.TFE.

A tiny bell tolled when they entered the store, but the place was empty. In fact, it looked almost abandoned, a heavy layer of dust covering the floor, the counter and the countless rows of heavy shelves, filled with long, thin boxes. The display was washed-out and dirty, a single lumpy cushion holding a wand. There was also a large, splint chair, where Hagrid took a seat. Harry peeked at the shadows at the back of the store. His arms where tired from carrying all his bags, even if Hagrid were handling the wooden trunk by himself as if it were a paper bag.

"Mr. Potter, I was waiting for you." Said a voice behind him, making Harry jump like a scalded cat, Hagrid also fleeing from his chair as if he had sat on a pincushion. The boy saw silver eyes on a very gaunt, thin face, a small head perched on a very long and wiry body, almost like a ball balanced on a rail. The man was very tall, and his wisp of white hair made him even taller.

"Mr. Ollivander," said Hagrid, seeming to get his grips. The man's face became alight with joy when his eyes moved to the half-giant.

"Hagrid! Oak, 16 inches, rather bendy, wasn't it? Oh, a pity they had to snap it."

"Yes, sir. But I still 'ave the pieces."

"You don't _use_ them, do you?" asked Mr. Ollivander, growing suddenly serious. Hagrid nervously fiddled with his pink umbrella, and muttered a very quiet 'no'. Harry was about to laugh when the silver orbs came back to him, scanning him something fierce, searching for something in his own depths. Harry was glad for his occlumancy, or else he would suspect the wandmaker was reading his mind.

"You should know, Mr. Potter, that I remember every single wand I've ever sold. I also sold your parents' first wands. For your mother, willow, 10 and a quarter inches, very swishy, nice for Charms work. For your father James, Mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable, in fact, excellent for transfiguration. Both very powerful wands, for powerful wizards."

Ollivander's eyes dropped slowly, while he extended a long thin finger, and touched Harry's scar.

"And I'm sad to say, I also sold the wand who did this to you."

Harry swallowed hard. Mr. Ollivander snapped his fingers and a silvery measure tape unfurled from inside one of his sleeves and circled the young boy.

"The truth, Mr. Potter, is that the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. And while great things can be done using magic, some may do terrible things too. Which's your wand arm?"

"I'm right handed."

The man slipped between his shelves, taking boxes from here and there, while the tape measured Harry by its own. When Mr. Ollivander came back, it was measuring Harry between his nostrils. The man settled five boxes on the counter.

"That's enough," said him, and the tap fell lifelessly on the floor. "Try this one, Mr. Potter."

Harry took it, and gave a testing switch. Nothing happened, so Mr. Ollivander snatched it back and gave him another, longer wand. This time, Harry provoked a burst of fire, but Mr. Ollivander took it back just a soon. In fact, it took a long time, and the discarded wands continue to pile up on the counter. Hagrid seemed more and more anxious, glancing at his pocket watch, while Mr. Ollivander was getting excited by it.

"Ohh, a difficult customer! But don't worry, we'll find a wand for you. Let's try this…"

And they tried. In fact, Harry had already lost the count on the wands he switched, flicked and twirled. One had produced a loud bang, other started to leak water from the tip just from touching his hand, other had transfigured a paper weight into a bird, which still fluttered around the the shop. He had already conjured fire, frost, wine, a gust of wind which had scattered all the wands on the counter, a very curious smell reminding him of cabbages, and, for some reason, a very horrid china saucier. Mr. Ollivander was tossing wands inside it. Harry couldn't remember how many tries he had to go through his first time around, but he was sure his old wand would have been tried by then, and rejected. Maybe his new body interfered with his magic, or maybe the blend of his old self and new persona made it go awry. He was really worried there would be no wand to match him, when Ollivander tossed him another wand, and suddenly everything clicked in place.

There was a rush of warmth spreading from the tips of his fingers to the depths of his chest. Bright light shined around him, while a shower of red sparks gushed from the tip of the wand. He laughed out loud, relief colouring his voice, while Hagrid clapped loudly and Mr. Ollivander looked like a child high on sugar. But the moment passed, the lights faded, and with them his expression. Instead of his smile, there was now worry, and his brow furrowed while he glared at the wand.

Harry knew this wand was different from the one he held in his last life. It was roughly the same size as before, and the girth didn't feel different, but the wood was very different. It was whitish, crisscrossed with reddish veins, almost like faded blood vessels. The design was unique, some of the veins bulging out the wood, like vines. Hermione's wand had vines etched on it, in the other timeline, but the similarities ended there. Her wand was caramel coloured, but Harry's was almost raw, without runes or carvings, quite pointy and full of chisel markings. Most of the bumps and vines were carved very roughly, almost as if the wand was unfinished.

"Most curious, most curious indeed."

"What is curious, Mr. Ollivander?"

"Ah! Don't you look so worried, Mr. Potter. There is nothing wrong with the wand, I assure you. I probably shouldn't tell you this, as you are still very young, but I always inform my customers about their wands, so I must now."

Harry grew silent, and anxious. The man seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

"Elder wood is nothing something I usually work with. Powerful wood, deeply rooted in magical places. Not many wizards match with elder wood, but history is riddled with them. Great thing they did, some of their feats still remain unmatched. Alas, very short lives they lived. Elder wood makes very powerful wands, but also bring the worst kind of luck. Twelve inches in length, very solid, it will serve you well, Mr. Potter, don't worry about any possible unluckiness. And the core… Feather of a phoenix. And that is most curious."

Harry fingered the unlucky wand carefully. He was not one to clutch on fickle things like luck, but only a fool would ignore a warning, and he had many plans that would be greatly affected if he attracted bad omens. Nevertheless, he was not the kind of man (or boy) who would be affected by these kind of things, Harry would adjust his plans accordingly, so luck, good or bad, wouldn't have much to do with it. And he would order Hermione to brew him some Felix Felicitis, if things come to it.

"This wand was one of my first creations, while I was just over my apprenticeship, Mr. Potter. They say the gift of a wand maker fade with time, instead of growing. We start to lose our touch with magic, grow deaf to different patterns. But it has been so long, I almost have forgotten about this one. The wood was cut by my own hands, when I still had to use an axe for it or my grandfather would yell at me for slacking. And the feather… Has been laying around here for longer than him. It's a very interesting match, Mr. Potter, remember that the wand chooses the wizard, and this one has been waiting for you for almost a century. If nothing else, it would teach your magic some patience," he moved his arm to embrace all the destruction caused at the store. "You will benefit from it."

.TFE.

Hagrid gave Harry a small envelope containing his ticket to the Hogwarts Express, and instructed him not to be late, not to lose it, and to keep his new owl inside her cage the entire journey. He grasped Harry's hand in his huge one, and shook it warmly.

"I'll be seeing ya in a month, 'Arry", he seemed genuinely sad at parting their ways. Harry shone him a smile.

"Don't worry, Hagrid, maybe we'll bump around here. I'm staying in the Cauldron until September."

"Wha— But ya relatives?"

"My uncle is probably upset by your prank, and they were going to visit his sister anyway. I would be locked inside the house for the rest of the summer, or would stay with one of the neighbours. I already talked to Tom while you were ordering dinner for us, I'll be staying in room 11. Took a lot to convince him to accept payment for it, and I still think I got a big discount. Maybe I will put some weight staying here, get some extra clothes and read all my books. And who knows, maybe I'll bump on Hermione again."

Hagrid gave him a very knowing smile, as if his last point explained it all. Giving him a wink and warning him not to wander into muggle London, they said their goodbyes. He mumbled about tiny fireplaces, took some powder from one of his many pockets, tossed it on the fire and stepped into the green flames, shouting some name. With a flash, he was gone, and Harry was alone in the bar, except for Tom still cleaning his cups, and a very old witch muttering drunkly to herself.

It was very late, so the man inside a boy's body bid Tom goodnight. He had much to do the next day, starting with some potions to break his cauldron in and to put some meat on his bones. Then he would need to go back to his vault, for a expedition in this strange new past. Maybe this time he wouldn't need to beg people for tokens from his parents. Maybe this time he could be openly proud of them. And maybe he could find his other two girls and instruct them about his plans, instead of having to invent stories on spot. His new owl hooted, reminding him how some wishes can come true very quickly. Maybe he would fare well in this strange new world.

He stuck his unlucky wand under his pillow, extinguished his candle, and dreamed about chocolate eyes.

* * *

I thank you all for the reviews, follows and favorites! Also, I corrected all the punctuation I've found in the last chapter and tried to do it right in this one.

As you can see from the story, Harry and Draco still haven't met in this reality, as Harry went with Hermione instead of getting inside Madam Malkin's straight from the bank. Some differences between the worlds were explained in this chapter, but lots more still need to be said. So, until the next chapter!


	3. The Hogwarts Express

There was something to be said about Londoner taxi drivers, — Harry thought — they were at it for so long that they didn't give a flying fuck about their passengers. Shady men in black suits carrying square suitcases? No problem. Strange women in tatters running away from somewhere or someone? If they have money, let them be. Strange unchaperoned boy with a wooden trunk and an owl inside a cage? Ask him to show coin first, then you go. The only thing in the whole ordeal that irked the man was trying to find a parking spot near King's Cross on Sunday. Harry offered to pay him a little bit extra for it, and the man loaded the boy's trunk in a trolley. Harry perched Hedwig's cage on it, shook his hand, and bid goodbye to his muggle life, at least for ten months.

It was early, but Harry wanted to take his time. He parked the trolley near a small café inside the station and got rid of his last muggle pounds for a coffee and a croissant. Not the usual British fare, but he was kind of getting sick of it after a whole month eating at the Cauldron. Even good things can become too much after a while. As he was early and happy, Harry granted himself a moment of vanity, inspecting his face on the back of his spoon.

The black shaggy bangs were gone. He had found a small barber shop crammed between two stores in Diagon Alley, where he got a better cut. While his hair would forever be a mop that refused to lay flat, there were better ways to keep it. It had been one of his girls that designed this cut, a lifetime before, so he instructed the barber how to do it, hoping to surprise her. He also got some potions to mix with his shampoo, so the hair would be easier to manage in the mornings. Pure vanity, he knew, but he also had hard lessons about how far first impressions can help a man.

He also had got rid of the glasses. Not only they were badly taped together, but also were the wrong prescription, the field of vision too narrow and he was useless without them. Finding the eyewear shop was difficult (in fact, it was in a small room above the apothecary), and convincing the wizard he was not crazy after explaining what he wanted was even more difficult. But after some haggling, some explaining and a lot of assuring, Harry Potter became the proud owner of the first pair of wizarding contact lenses. At first, he had pitied the man, trying for days to shrink glasses without making them unusable, and then inventing spells to maintain them and to prevent those same spells to interact badly with other magic. But when the tiny pieces of glass had stuck firmly in his eyes, when the world shifted into focus without frames limiting his vision, the man whooped in joy in unison with the boy. By the look on his face, Harry wouldn't be the sole owner of a pair for long. If nothing else, coming back in time had at least help to revolutionise the magical eyewear industry.

The boy swirled his coffee, surprised by how better he felt after just a short month of intense maintenance. He was not surprised by how quickly his body had responded to the nutritive potions (an excellent exercise in brewing for him, even if it irked him to only use a single cauldron at a time, and being unable to adjust the flames with his traced wand), children's bodies were remarkably easy to fix magically. And Harry had a very fast metabolism, his personal theory was his body had learned to extract every single nutrient from any food he ate, as meals were sparse, with long periods between them. He had spent the first week carefully buying the nutritive ingredients from the apothecary, mixed between other goods. While that kind of potion wasn't forbidden per se, most nutritive potions were highly addictive, and too much of them lead to poisoning. Harry had brewed a very small batch of it, some bone-knitting potion, some stamina enhancing potions (while most wizards used them to solve erectile dysfunction, it could be also used as a supplement after strenuous exercise), lots of pain relieving concoctions and a vial of stomach ache relief. After years of almost starvation, Tom's food dropped like bombs inside him. Also, he had chewed raw moonroot, to help with his treatment, which was highly acidic, so the vial was a necessity.

His stay in Diagon Alley was one of the best times of his life, it would only be better if he had his girls with him and a fully capable body. As all teenagers around the world in every single timeline, Harry quickly realised that puberty sucked. His body responded at the most random moments, his emotions were starting to fight his grasp and he had been looking at the waitress' rump for a tad bit more than the socially accepted. She winked at him, and he very quickly lost his battle against a blush.

All in all, not every plan of his had ended like Harry wanted. The Goblins wouldn't accept to leave him alone in his vault, and they charged mighty for the hour spent there watching him work. Also, no wizard magic was allowed inside Gringotts, so Harry had to explore his vault using his own hands. He had bought some boxes and lots of leather pouches, had sat on the top of his fortune, and started counting it. Filling the pouches with exactly one hundred galleons each was a very long and very boring task, and by the end of the summer, he barely had dented the pile. He had found some things under the coins, although: a wooden sealed box small measured, and two trunks, shrunk to matchbox size. The sealed box held papers, carefully laid inside to avoid deterioration by humidity or time. The boy had paid ten galleons for a blind copy of the entire content of the box. He had to request for a blind one so the goblins wouldn't know what was written in the papers and paid ten times more for it. As the galleon was exchanged for fifty muggle pounds, that had been his highest investment yet. All for nothing, as the papers were written in code and he still hadn't been able to get head or tails of them.

The trunks he let be, at least until the next summer. Goblins would charge him to unshrink them, he would need to lunge them to the Cauldron, and risk them to be robbed or, worse yet, would need to answer questions about them. Also, no matter what they would say about his family in that world, Harry still had a lifetime of prejudice rained upon him for who his parents were, and nothing in the world would make him trust the trunks to be devoid of dark magic. Once he had tried to open a satchel from his mother's secret stash, in his last life, and had been cursed by it. Harry knew wasn't patient enough to wait until he was seventeen again to open those trunks, but he would leave them in the vault for some time.

His brand new wristwatch told him he still had an entire hour before the train would depart, but he wanted to get on the move sooner than later. Pushing the trolley before him, Harry avoided the masses of muggles scrambling to and from their platforms, sidestepping busy men in suits, posh women in elaborate dresses and whiny kids refusing to listen to reason. Hedwig was sleeping soundly inside her cage, nonetheless, but Harry couldn't blame her. He had been running the poor bird ragged, flying to and from Hermione's house, exchanging vital information about this new world and double-entendre filled letters, totally inappropriate for their ages. Well, their bodies still had some years to catch up before they could do half of those things, but putting Hermione's knickers in a twist was one of his favourites pastimes. He would deny loudly if asked, but in truth, he was missing badly all his girls.

The boy with the owl stepped in front of column dividing platforms 9 and 10. The red brick pillar seemed sturdy enough to support the ceiling for a century or so more. Harry had heard young students would run towards it, their eyes closed, to get rid of their fear of collision. He always had wondered how muggles wouldn't notice a bunch of weirdly dressed kids running blind into a solid wall. So, as he had time and as a first, he was alone at the platform, Harry closed his eyes, extended his magic, and subtly touched the magical barrier.

It was one of the most incredible pieces of magic he had even seen. The boy would be hard pressed to describe it, and he felt he had been unfair when he complained about the lack of information on the platform in his books. He could feel a perfectly circular barrier around the pillar, the taste of magic telling him it was a muggle distracting ward. He had seen others like this before, and magic was new, so probably some Ministry employee had come to the platform the previous night or very early that same day to ward the place against muggle eyes. Anything strange would be ignored by non-magical folk, and they would even sidestep the barrier, giving the families some space around the entrance. A fine piece of magic, but one which paled in front of the barrier itself.

Hermione was a specialist in folded wizardspace. She even had a four-dimensional full-fledged room inside a handbag to prove it. At least, she had had it, a lifetime before. Wizardspace had been one of her fascinations, the ability to _create_ space. She had proved it arithmantically, when she was 18, earning her a master's degree in Arithmancy in Genevra, the youngest witch to ever do so. Her theory, if Harry remembered it well, proposed that wizardspace started as a dent in the space-time fabric, slowly pushed _downwards_ , creating a sac-like deformation, inside which natural life could exist, live and age. As Hermione had proved it, the space around the sac isn't stretched out, as if one were simply moving it around to create wizardspace, but everything was kept the way it is, that proved wizards could conjure extra space-time, and the excess of it would create the wizardspace. She had been working hard on proving that a ball-like space was the natural form of wizardspace, with possible implications that the entire universe was ball-shaped when she was captured and locked in Azkaban. Harry really wished she would remember to take a look magically at the platform.

It was the biggest wizardspace he had ever seen. The barrier, hidden behind an illusion complementing the pillar face, looked like a round mouth, leading to an incredibly deformed wizardspace. Harry mentally calculated the platform was _cone-shaped_ instead of round, holding the entire stone platform, two food stands, a huge train and probably a quarter of the entire wizarding populace in Britain. In fact, it would explain why it was forbidden to apparate directly to the platform, as apparating inside wizardspace was one of the most dangerous feats of magic. The annual crossing through the muggle station just to get to Platform 9 3/4 wasn't just a tradition or a misguided attempt at integration, but a real _necessity_. And the tracks! They simply went _outside_ the wizardspace, bursting the sideways cone, as if trying to get out of the tip of it. Harry always had supposed the station was, in fact, in another place altogether, and the barrier on the pillar simply transported them there. But somehow the platform was inside the pillar, and the train could move magically from inside to the outside of wizardspace.

The station hadn't been there for more than a century. Before that, the trip to Hogwarts was done from other station, and before _that_ it was done on carriages. The train which had become the symbol of the school, used three times to get students to other countries for the Triwizard Tournament, was barely a hundred years old. It was mind-blowing to know the knowledge and magical power to create something like Platform 9 3/4 had been lost forever in less than a century, even with the Flamels themselves been older than that. In that new world, where wizarding lives were barely longer than a hundred years, it probably had been lost in a handful of years. If that wasn't a sure sign of the decay of wizarding lifestyle, Harry didn't know what else could be.

"Packed with muggles, of course," said someone near him, and he almost jumped out of his skin. He glanced quickly at his watch and was surprised he had past almost an entire hour admiring an invisible piece of magic embedded in the wall. "Now, which's the platform number, Ron dear?".

"Yes, Ronnikins, which is the platform number?"

"Enlighten us with your knowledge, Ronny-bear".

"Oi, shut up you two!"

Harry looked behind and felt her heart pounce in his chest. They were different, that's for sure, and so, so young. First the older woman, proud and plump, red hair fanning around her head and a gentle smile on her face. She was trying valiantly to hold a boy's hand, while he kept dodging her. Tall for his age, long-nosed and made entirely of knees and elbows, he slouched as if trying to avert the attention his family was showering him with. At his side, two older boys, identical to the last freckle, grinning wickedly at their younger brother. To the other side of the woman, a taller, older boy, preening like a peacock, almost strutting while he pushed his trolley, a badge pinned to the front of his clothes shining almost loudly. Harry knew it to be an attention-grabbing spell.

"Oh, dear, are you a first year? Are you lost?"

"Yes," answered Harry, fighting to keep his eyes on her face, for else they would wander around, searching… "Do I need to just walk into the pillar?"

"Yes, you can run if you are nervous. It's Ronald's first year too. Percy, show him how to do it".

Percy was in his element there, all eyes on him. He gave Harry a proud nod, swagged towards the pillar, stopped, and ran a little bit, the front of his trolley touching the red bricks and being swallowed by them as if the redhead boy were getting under a waterfall. Harry blinked, and the boy was gone.

"Want to try it?" said the woman, gently. Harry shrugged, nodded and walked into the pillar.

The barrier felt cold to his touch as if he really were crossing water. He kept his pace steady, getting away from the entrance to avoid been run over by the next person to cross. He glanced back, to the brick wall the same colour as the pillar at the other side. There was a stone arch framing it, just to signal the right stop to cross. Harry had once heard about a distracted boy who tried to cross back to the station at the wrong wall and had broken his nose. Deepbottom something. It was long before his time, anyway.

The twins crossed one after the other, then the younger boy, his ears red from embarrassment and a smudge on his nose. Harry noticed their ragged trunks, second-hand robes, and a single owl, owned by the older boy. He waited, waited with all his heart, almost praying.

The next to cross wasn't a plump woman in a patched blue dress. It was a small girl. She raised her eyes, and he felt his heart stop.

"So, what's your name, dear?"

"I'm Harry Potter, ma'am", answered Harry, prying his eyes from the lithe form. Her hair was longer than he remembered by then. Her face smoother. Her eyes browner. Hedwig hooted, wrenched from her slumber by all the noise at the station. The scarlet red locomotive blowing white smoke rings from its chimney. It whistled loudly. Time to embark.

" _The_ Harry Potter?", asked Percy, seeing him as if under a brand new light. Harry tried hard not to grimace. "It's an honour—"

"Yes! An honour indeed, Mr. Potter,"

"Such a pleasure, I can't even,"

"Delightful,"

"There are no words to—"

"Enough! Fred, George, help Ron get his trunk on the train. And this year, _please_ do behave. If I get another owl from Prof. McGonagall for something like you two blowing a Hogwarts' toilet…"

"We've _never_ blown a toilet, mom,"

"But thanks for the idea".

" _I am warning you_. Take care. And Percy, keep an eye on them for me."

"Don't you worry, mother, it's even part of my Prefect duties, now."

"Wow, Perce, you are a Prefect, huh. I think you mentioned it this summer."

"Once—"

"Twice—"

"One day—"

"The whole summer—"

The voices faded towards the train. Ron shuffled under his mother watchful gaze, she latched on him with a spat-on handkerchief, trying to clean his smudge. Harry was silent, nailed to the ground by the weight of all the words he wanted to say but couldn't. He had a plan, he needed to stick to it. He so wanted to not have it anymore.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," said her, in a quiet, steady voice, taking his hand in hers, her tiny, warm fingers wrapping around his in a vice-like grip. "I've heard a lot about you, Harry."

"Good things, I hope… Ginny."

"Mostly."

He laughed out, she blushed a little, he asked her if she was going to Hogwarts soon. He didn't want to release her hand. She smiled at him, her brown eyes dancing to their own secret tune.

"Goodbye then, thank you for your help, Mrs. Weasley. See you next year, Ms. Weasley."

"You bet, Mr. Potter", then she lunged, taking him by surprise, kissing softly his cheek. Her entire face got red as a tomato, her head dropped so her hair could hide her face, and she stepped behind her mother.

"Take care", she muttered, but he heard. His heart ached, her mother looked at them bewildered, he gave them a half-hearted wave, and got into the train, lugging a trunk and an owl with him.

.TFE.

He didn't need to walk much before finding Hermione. Her compartment was near the front of the train, where the lower years congregated. She was alone, reading a book, her feet propped on the seat in front of her. She was so small once again that she needed to sit all crooked, her butt almost falling from her seat, for her legs to reach the front bench. He tapped the glass and she almost fell. Her smile and her blush could almost heal his torn heart. Not for the first time in his life, he wished Ginny to swap birthdays with Ron. Her seventh year had been the worst one in their lives, she been stuck at Hogwarts, all alone, while they struggled to plan and to achieve without her presence. Hermione had even shrunk the bed once, trying to curb the lingering absence Ginny had left behind.

It hadn't work then. It wouldn't work, once more.

"Why are you late? It thought you'd have come early."

"I kinda lost the sense of time admiring the platform. Did you know—?"

"That we are in a cone-shaped wizardspace, inside a trans-space scarlet train? Yes. I've been working on it in my free time. But I think I won't be able to understand it better until I can do magic outside school. You look good, by the way."

Her blush told him much more than her words. Harry smiled, reached with his arms and hugged her. She smelled good, her head tucked under his chin. He thanked whoever had invented nutrient potions and potion-induced growth spurts. Something felt different, he slid his arms a little bit lower and crushed her on his chest. She yelped.

"You got tits?"

He regretted it almost immediately. He also would sport a red handprint on his cheek for most of the trip. It wasn't the first time Hermione informed him in no short words how he could be very crass when he wasn't watching himself.

"Close the curtains, Harry", she ordered, fumbling inside her handbag. Harry slid his trunk on the overhead rack, seated Hedwig's cage on the floor, just under the window and closed the curtains over it, doing the same with the small glass on the door. He heard some rustle behind him and turned to look.

She was naked, and a very tiny part of his mind wondered if what he felt then should be considered an unhealthy desire for a pre-teen girl. But as he was a pre-teen himself, the biggest, more focused part of his mind told the other to shut up and drink the view. So he did. Hermione slipped some knickers on, fastened a white bra around herself and rotated her shoulders to fill it better.

"Hermione Granger using potions for breast gain? One can wonder—"

"I think you are the last person who can talk about potion-induced growth. And let me remind you that, exactly like your new contact lenses, I'm doing it because I won't be implanted with fragments tonight to enhance my magic and correct all my body flaws."

"There sure isn't much to correct."

"Cute. But you aren't out of the doghouse for being vulgar, mister."

"You slap me for saying 'tits' and then get naked in front of me?"

"Yes. Now hold this for me, steady."

Harry fumbled to open the compact mirror and hold it in front of her face. She made a face, curling her upper lip, pointed her own wand at her mouth. There was the rush of a spell, and her upper teeth started to shrink, very slowly. She used her left indicator to hold her lip up, carefully opened her mouth and closed it again. The spell ended, and she gifted him with a perfect smile.

"I see you're going full out about it, Hermione."

"Of course, I'm very serious about punishment, _master_."

She got fully dressed in her uniform, touched her hair with her wand and fastened golden loops through her ears. After spraying a little bit of perfume and applying her makeup, she showed herself to him, giving a little loop in her place.

"So, do I look like a strumpet?"

For the first in a long time, Harry had no words to offer. The small girl smiled at him not as a pre-teen, but as a young teenager, and if 'cute' could describe her before, Harry quickly found the word couldn't do justice to her. Hermione was wearing a very short standard black skirt, her legs seeming longer, his eyes sliding over them until arriving at her Mary Janes and dark grey socks. The white Polo shirt showed the visible curve of her small breasts, her dark grey tie hanging loose, the knot almost an inch under the unbuttoned shirt. She wore her black robes open, showing the uniform under it, and the golden earrings made a nice touch, glinting through her now curly and tall hair. Down to the minute details, Hermione had painted her lips with a glossy pale pink lipstick, keeping them discreet but moist-looking, dusted her eyelids to show a little bit darker and her naturally long eyelashes were more evident. Her faint perfume of lilac wrapped around his mind.

He was kissing her. There was no movement, no instant in time between her proud smile over her new appearance and her being pressed against the door, his lips devouring her, tasting the sweet strawberry flavour of the gloss, ruining her carefully applied lipstick, tangling fingers in her hair, making her earrings dangle madly. Her black-painted nails were on his skin, under the back of his shirt, and in the next moment on his hair, his nape, her hands around his face, her small tongue against his, his knee pressing between her legs, parting then, feeling the pleated skirt flare open around her thighs, his hands pulling the shirt from under it, invading it, circling her belly with his warm fingers, drinking the heat of her skin.

Her hands pushed him away, just before he could bite her neck. The daze seemed to lift a little, but still held, and he tried to suck her shivering skin in his mouth, but she was strong for her age, and could push him more. He sighed, withdrew his hands from under her shirt and trapped her head between his arms, his hands resting against the cold wood of the door. She rested her small, fire-hot hand on his leg, and he removed his knee from between hers, letting the skirt flow down once again, even if not by much. It really was short, and he wanted to touch her smooth thighs, but he held.

"If you kiss me like that, it will be hard for people to believe we're just kids, Harry."

"I'm wholly inclined to toss the plan in the fire."

She laughed.

"I'm flattened. Really. But there are things more important than snogging wildly."

"Are there?"

She laughed again.

"Get your head out the gutter, mister. We have much to discuss. But… Off the record, I'm inclined to throw everything away and snog you, too."

Harry closed his eyes, but the perfume seemed to get stronger if he did that, so he let his arms fall limply to his sides. Her chocolate coloured eyes were darker, fiercer. There was once a time when she couldn't look people in the eyes, except for when she was passionately defending her ideals or sprouting random facts about the wizarding world. Harry and his other girls had to teach her to be more confident in herself, had to make her feel beautiful and powerful before she would look people in the eyes all the time. A whole lot of new problems showed up then, as Hermione's eyes could be fierce and sharp as a wild lioness. Some thought she was challenging them, others could swear she was a legillimens. Draco Malfoy had been a steady supporter of that theory until the very day of his death.

"When did you got your ears pierced? You weren't wearing earrings before."

"Two weeks ago. I had to _beg_ my mother for it. It's… It's so different now. We talk, we do talk now. And they… They are so _interested_ in _my_ world. More than once I caught them reading my school texts. If I weren't very strict with them, my father would try to brew potions using our stove."

"You seem happy."

Her eyes were shining.

"I am. You know how much I missed my family. Of course, things can be difficult now that they aren't afraid to death of me, like getting my ears pierced, but it's so much better having them in my life again. I so hope I don't need to kill them this time."

"I promise you to do my best so you don't have to."

"Thank you, Harry. No, really. _Thank you_. If not by you, I'd have given up by now, died alone in that cell. You were the one who wanted us to travel between worlds if we ever got caught. And you were the one who ordered me to include time travel in the ritual, even after I said it was impossible. Your plan not only saved us all but gave us another chance. A fresh start."

Harry let the praise wash over him, happily. He tried his best not to get cocky, not to get prideful. Flamel had died because of his pride. But when a pretty girl praised you, it's hard to hold your humility intact. And Hermione was _beautiful_. Harry had known it for such a long time, but she had spent years not believing it, to the point they had to force her to say she was pretty. Building her self-confidence had been Harry's life-long project before, but to the last day of their former lifetime, she still had doubts. Because she had spent her muggle childhood feeling ugly, being called ugly, beaver face, bad hair. Because she had gone to Hogwarts and spent half a year with mutations caused by the fragments altering her body, unleashing her dormant genes, giving her a body she couldn't think as her own, an ugly duckling mind occupying a swan's body. And when she finally grew comfortable in her bones, there was a war to wage, and people would admire her by her brain, by her power, by her ruthless and never by her beauty.

Never more. Even without the fragments to buff her appearance, her own nutrient potions, and enhancement concoctions had already made her a gorgeous girl. Her bushy hair converted into a mass of honey coloured curls already guaranteed eyes would follow her everywhere. Her straight, white teeth made her smile even prettier, and her new clothes and attitude paired with her incredible intellect would make people pause. She would never be called names again, he would make sure of it. She would be a leader, a true Queen since her rebirth, she would be one of the most important parts of his plan. And his plan was everything, they needed to treat carefully, to stitch their stories together to the point they would believe it true themselves. They needed to be, in a single word, discreet.

Harry got his mind thread interrupted by the door crashing open violently. Blonde hair on a pale face, silk robes, and Pureblood airs. He felt his heart drop in his chest.

"I AM FRIGID. MY MOTHER'S PRUDE. I DON'T WANT TO LIVE IN THIS WORLD ANYMORE!"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes closed. He felt a migraine growing like the weeds in Aunt Petunia's garden, fast and steady. His plans crashed and burned around him, like the enemies of the mighty phoenix, like scraps of thoughts before the unstoppable force of Daphne Greengrass. He got an unshaken impression he should drop all his machinations and start growing crops. Or raising cattle. At the top of some distant mountain. Alone.

"Daphne, you are not frigid," said Hermione, stifling a laugh. "You are eleven."

"Why are you dressed like a midget whore? Is your family different in this reality too? Are you a chav now?"

"How do you know what a ch—? Forget it, I don't want to know. And stop talking about different worlds, Harry wants us to lay low with this. Come on, sit here by my side. I'm dressed like this because I'm being punished."

"And you are going to be punished too, Ms. Greengrass," barked Harry, his headache breaking all his stops. "What did we agreed on before coming here? To who else did you shout about different realities? Do you want us to BE LOCKED IN AZKABAN AGAIN?"

Instead of responding, the blond burst into tears. It was so _undaphne_ to cry that it gave him pause. That, and the very stink eye Hermione made at him. She wrapped the taller girl in her arms, muttering something in her ear. Tears streamed down her porcelain face, her nose getting redder and redder, her pristine silk robes getting all wrinkly. The young boy felt a bad taste in his mouth, so he abandoned his seat to kneel next to the crying girl, sliding his hands over her lap, taking her own cold fingers in his, kissing her knuckles quietly.

"Come on, Daph, I'm sorry for shouting at you," begged him. She shook her head, stifling a sob.

"It's not your fault. I'm… I am feeling strange. Everything is strange. I'm not myself anymore. I'm… _frigid_."

"Daphne, I know you had a very… demanding drive before we came back, but it's normal for a pre-teen girl _not_ to have a sex drive."

"You don't understand, Hermione," Daphne used a hanky to wipe her face. She looked cute with her small nose so red, Harry really needed to put some rein in his freshly started puberty. "When I travelled to Hogwarts the first time I had to take at least three _bathroom breaks_. And my mother… The day I came back, I tried to talk to her while she was bathing, and she shouted at me as if I was committing some kind of crime. And _Astoria_ was crying all day for a toy she wanted, and it was a real, stuffed bear toy, instead of the… other kind. And mother and father are happily married, _monogamously_ married. Believe me, I even searched for Cap. Roberts in my mother's dresser, tried even to _accio_ it, and nothing. She wears strange clothes, all stuffed up, she talks about _proper behaviour_. She's a prude, and I don't even get wet thinking about my own punishment. What is wrong with me?"

"Cap. Roberts?"

"My mother's plastic helper. _What is wrong with me?_ "

"How do wizards know about plas—?"

"Hermione, you are missing the point. Daphne, what do you know about this world?"

"Well. Uh, I read some, even if I was scared by my lack of… enthusiasm for life. No Flamel Experiments? Seems quite nice, I think. You don't think they did something to my family, do you? Some kind of _Greengrass frigifyer_ —"

"For God's sake, Daphne—"

"For _Merlin_ 's,"

"Shut up, Harry. For Merlin's sake, Daphne, there is nothing wrong with you or your family, and in fact, I think I have a theory why you are… a normal, healthy young girl instead of a sex-obsessed tramp. And it's nothing _they_ did to you, much to the contrary…"

"What are you talking about?"

"You always boasted that you have Veela blood in your line. That's how you are pretty, sexy, desirable, whatnot. Well, I think that just like Harry and I, you are suffering from the lack of fragments. Without them to fix our birth defects and activate our genes, your Veela blood remains inactive."

"But I was different even _before_ the Ceremony."

"Yes, probably because your mother had the fragments and the active Veela blood. Exposure to her aura could _semi-activate_ your inner Veela. Astoria's too. At least in theory. So your lack of sex drive can be easily fixed by our very own Ceremony."

"And my mother's too? If your theory is right, exposure to _my_ aura would activate her blood, wouldn't it?"

"Probably. She will never be the woman you knew in your former life, but she would be more… active. Your sister's too, I think. She is younger, probably the blood would be more intense for her, and when she comes to Hogwarts exposure will be higher. Or we can simply put some fragments in her too…?"

"No fragments distribution for now. We still need to put our hands on the Stone, so, Daphne, I think we'll need to wait for puberty to strike you, as everybody else does."

"Not fun, not fun at all. Well, don't look at me like that, Hermione. My sex drive is important to me, it _defines_ my character, just like you bossy bitchiness does to you."

" _What? I am not—_ "

"Stop it, both of you!" Harry rubbed his eyes, carefully not to knock his lenses to the back of his head. The man guaranteed magical fixture for a year, but he didn't want to bet on it and need to go to Madam Pomfrey to extract magical glass from his brain. If Madam Pomfrey even existed in that world, that is. So many things to check. "I'm sure your drive will be back on track in no time. What we need to discuss now is which house we'll be in, and how did we have met, because you _had_ to barge in our compartment without a cover up story."

"Oh, put a sock on it, Potter. Nobody cares what a firstie says or does, not even other firsties and you know it. We simply met on the train and got along. We all meet at Gryffindor or Slytherin? Hermione could probably pass as a foreign Pureblood this time, and red clash horribly with my skin tone, so…"

"How do you know I need to be a Pureblood to be accepted in this Slytherin house?"

"My father never shuts up about Purebloods, in this world. He complains all the time about how muggles and their muggle way are destroying our world. And it looks like Mother actually eats that crap, as she nods and complains about muggle women and their nasty, whorish ways. Remind me to introduce you to her on our Yule break."

"Can the whore jokes, I know this isn't my usual dress style but you don't need to make such a fuss about it. I'll be twelve in a month, I look older than that if I can say so myself, and I've seen younger girls dressed more revealing than that."

"If my mother's view about dress codes is the standard here, boys will throw knuts at you when you pass by, Hermione."

"What! Shut up, Daph," Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. "I worth much more than that. Galleons."

"You worth more than any other girl in that school, Hermione, and if anyone tries to take what's mine there will be blood."

"Hey, you should do this bad guy impersonation again. I think I got a little wet."

Hermione caught Daphne by the back of her robe before she could attack Harry. By the flush on her cheeks, she also liked his tone of voice. Harry thanked Merlin for the blessing of his voice not cracking up in the middle of it.

"We really need to decide our houses before the snogfest. Harry, I don't think we should be all together. I know, Daph, I really don't _want_ to go through more seven years of sleeping in different beds and sneaking around, but we must think about the plan. This world is different from ours, we don't have the Stone, our powers are very limited and we need to spread out the most we can if we want to build another Court here. I think I want to be a Ravenclaw this time."

"You just want to read all the books in their secret room. And can you be intelligent in this world? I thought Harry was punishing you."

"I'm playing the intelligent bimbo character. Probably will throw most people off, and keep them on their toes when handling me. You could try it too, Daphne, even if I have no idea how you could fake intelligence."

Daphne slid over Hermione's lap, her smaller chest glued to the older girl's, their lips with barely some distance between them. Harry adjusted himself in his seat.

" _Well_ ," purred the blonde. "You could teach me, Miss Smartypants, we could make some _girl on girl_ _time_."

 _They are eleven-year-olds, they are eleven-year-olds_ , _they are eleven-year-olds,_ chanted Harry in his mind.

"For a frigid girl, you look very frisky, blondie. Are you sure you want me to teach you, Daphie? I can be _very strict._ "

"FOR MERLIN'S SAKE THEY'RE ELEVEN YEAR OLDS!"

"Harry?"

"Sorry. Did I said it out loud? Sorry. Uh. Let's talk about houses, how about it? I agree with Hermione, we shouldn't be all together, and she should be in Ravenclaw. You should be a Slytherin, Daphne, because, really, you couldn't be something else. If my history lessons serve me right, and if this Hogwarts is like the one we read about in school, Hufflepuff is a bunch of pussies and Gryffindor is the party house with a big mouth. People expect me to be a Gryff, so I won't be one. Slytherin would be nice, but we don't know much about this Voldemort character and if his followers were just goons or dangerous people. Most of them got scot-free after I defeated the nosy guy, so their children are bound to be there. And really, Hermione told me people actually like my mother in this world, so I won't be in the only place they probably hate her. I'll be a Claw too."

"And Ginny?"

"She can be a Gryff, that way we'll cover three houses. I'll put a mole in Hufflepuff, maybe they hide some kind of talent there. We need to scout out people for our new Court and start to groom them into our ideals. This power vacuum they've been through since Voldemort's downfall probably let most of these people aimless and with broken ideas, we need to unite them under our banner before we can start making changes. Also, by my calculations, there should be less than four hundred students at Hogwarts today."

"Just that? What happened to this world?"

"We never truly solved our birth-rate problem, Daphne. Witches are at their peak of fertility around seventeen and we decline fast, becoming barren by our thirties. Only some avoid that fate, the Weasley clan comes to mind, and probably because some ancestor of them made a deal with some entity for it. We know the Blacks did. The Stone fragments would keep us fertile, even if each pregnancy was more and more difficult, but if they never used the Stone here…"

"So most of the people we know are either dead or never have been born?"

"Yes."

"Good. Most were pricks anyway. So there's what? Around ten children per house/year? The dorms will be more silent, that's for sure."

"So we agree on Slytherin for Daphne and Ravenclaw for Harry and me? Great. The cover story, as Daphne pointed out, is unnecessary, so we can move on to the next subject."

"Snogfest?"

Hermione gave them a very predatory smile.

"Why, Daphne, you took the words from my mouth."

Harry's last thought before the warm lilac haze dawned on him was he really needed to put some reign on that puberty thing. Sometime.

* * *

And here we are with another chapter of The Flamel Experiments! First of all, I want to thank you all for the reviews, PMs, followers and favorites!

So, we finally met all our protagonists, even if just briefly. Also, we saw some about Hermione's punishment and how different this Daphne Greengrass will be. And we finally met Ginny, but unfortunately she was born a little late for our First Year, so we'll only see more about her sometime down the road. I intend to publish the entire story in this single work, so she will appear in some next chapter.

That's it, thanks for reading and hope you have enjoyed it! All reviews are gladly accepted and (hopefully) swiftly answered. See you guys next chapter!

EDIT: Some reviewers pointed the horrible grammar and spelling mistakes in this chapter. I did some polishing and corrected (hopefully) all the typos. Sorry for the bumpy ride this chapter was and hope it reads better now.


	4. The Ravenclaw Tower

As Harry trudged behind the rest of the Ravenclaw First Years, it felt as if two years had passed, instead of just a few hours. At his side, a doozy Hermione walked slowly, yawning shamelessly. They had just arrived at Hogwarts but their housemates already eyed them with some suspicious, awe and resentment.

First, it had been the Sorting. Hermione had hidden behind Harry while they waited in the small chamber. She even used the opportunity to retouch her light make up, sharing a hand mirror with Daphne. When her name was called, her modified outfit had surprised the students around her, and McGonagall was already drilling her skull with a mighty stare when she took her seat on the stool, under the Hat. While slightly inappropriate for an 11-year-old girl, her short skirt, unbuttoned shirt and wide loop earrings suited the beautiful Hermione, as she already looked older than the rest of her peers, thanks to been almost 12 and a small dose of growing potions. She was the second tallest girl of their year, losing only to the already statuesque Daphne Greengrass. Her uniform, however, was too scandalous for the rigid Deputy Headmistress. After the Feast, she was held back for a quick earful, delaying the Ravenclaw Firsties and displeasing some of the more tired kids.

And there was Harry himself. People had whispered and pointed when his name was called, some even standing up to have a better look at him. In their last life, that sort of thing also would happen, but there was fear in their eyes, not admiration and awe. Which was better, he still couldn't sort out his feelings.

"Here we are. This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower," the beautiful female Prefect started, pointing at an unremarkable bronze door on the wall of the west side of the fifth floor. There were many doors like that one in the corridor, but the one the Prefect was pointing had an eagle-shaped knocker but no keyhole or doorknob. "In Hogwarts, it's common for secret doors to have passwords but the entrance to our tower don't have one. Instead, you must answer a question."

She lightly probed the eagle with her finger, making it gain life and spread its tiny wings. Some of the kids jumped in surprise at that, Harry marked them mentally as muggleborns. Hermione seemed fascinated, becoming a Ravenclaw had always been one of her dreams.

"Penelope, is it that you?" the eagle asked, his tinny voice sounding full of sleep. "The summer has ended, finally?"

"We are back home, Gaillimh. Have you missed me?" The Prefect answered, looking amused.

"I miss our conversations," Harry could swear the little guy was blushing. "Ohh, First Years! I have a question for you, now. Let's see: what word begins and ends with an 'E' but only has one letter?"

In the eyes of the sleepy and tired Ravenclaws, the eagle must have looked like a sadistic monster. Hermione raised her hand.

"An envelope."

The eagle flapped his wings.

"Correct! Welcome to Hogwarts, welcome to Ravenclaw! Sharpen your minds, raise the stakes and never stop growing! And, dear, wear some longer skirts or you will catch your death in this chilly place."

Hermione laughed at it, prompting the others to laugh too. Penelope led the students through the door that opened inwards on its own. They entered a large, circular room with many tall windows, a light blue carpet riddled with silver stars and a majestic enchanted ceiling just like the one in the Great Hall.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower," the older girl announced. "This will be your home for the next seven years. Every time you want to enter the Tower, you need to ask Gaillimh for a riddle. If you answer correctly, you can enter. If you don't… Well, you'll need to wait for the next student to come and answer his own riddle and open the door for you. It's common for First Years to be locked outside in their first weeks, there are lots of books about riddles here, you can read them in your free time, so you can get the hang of it. The curfew is at nine, one of the prefects will open the door to anyone still outside at that time. However, if any Prefect catches you outside the Tower after that, you will be assigned a detention and lose points. Am I clear?"

They nodded but one of the girls raised her hand, a blonde with a long ponytail and a prominent chin.

"Yes, Lisa?" Penelope prompted. Seeing her shocked face, she added. "I try to remember everybody's names," she winked. "Be warned!"

"What if a student from other house answer a riddle?"

"Good question. Well, first things first, you should never reveal the location of the house to other students without permission from a Prefect. There are currently only three students that know where the house is. If they can answer the riddle, they are welcome to enter and visit us until curfew. Ravenclaw accepts any person who seeks knowledge. Also, it's impolite to ask someone else about their own house, even if you won't be docked points for it. Knowledge is power, so don't give away your secrets too quickly."

Lisa nodded and as no one else wanted to ask more questions, Penelope went on with her little speech.

"On your right side, there is the boys' stairs, to the left, the girls'. Boys are forbidden on the girls' side and the other way is also true. If you need help with something, anything, please come to us Prefects. If you want to read any book on the shelves, you are free to do so, but never take our books outside the tower. Finally, Professor Flitwick is our Head of House, his consulting hours are on the notice board along with other house announcements. Classes start tomorrow at 9, breakfast starts at 6 a.m. sharp. Tomorrow, I will take anyone already up to the Great Hall. Don't stay up too late, see you tomorrow."

She gave them a wink, then disappeared among a group of older students who were exchanging greetings. Harry and Hermione parted and he went upstairs until he found the door labelled "First Year". He was pleasantly surprised to discover Ravenclaw offered individual rooms, instead of shared dorms. Maybe Rowena had been annoyed to death by students keeping the lights on to read before bed and gave each one his own room.

It was roughly the size of Dudley's second bedroom, the one full of broken toys and unread books. There was just a bed, a chest of drawers and a small desk, making the room feel cramped. Hedwig was perched on his headboard. He lightly scratched her head.

"You waited for me, girl?" He asked, getting a lazy hoot as an answer. "Thanks for keeping an eye on my things. I will visit you soon."

He kissed the top of her fuzzy head and opened the small window, allowing the majestic bird the flap her wings and disappear in the night. Harry closed the window and opened the trunk on the bed, taking his clothes and personal belongings and throwing them in his drawers. After tossing the book bag on top of it, he considered the task done. He stowed the trunk under the bed, got his toothbrush and exited the room. It seemed his fellow Firsties were too tired to unpack before bed, there was nobody in the corridor, all doors were locked and no light shone under them. The bathroom was big, as expected for a dorm.

Looking up at the ceiling, under the duvet, watching the patterns in the stone, Harry wondered why he couldn't sleep. He knew there were still so many things to do but he had at least seven years to accomplish every single one of them. There was no reason to be anxious. He had already gone through Hogwarts once, a worse, crueller version of Hogwarts still! There was no reason to be afraid of school. His girls were safe, young and content again (he didn't know about Ginny, but it was safe to assume, as she was living with probably a better version of her family). There was no reason to be worried.

Kicking the duvet and throwing a robe over his nightclothes, he tiptoed through the corridor and down the stairs. The Common Room was dark, cold and silent but it wasn't empty.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked, moving towards the fireplace. "It's freezing here."

Hermione said nothing, her knees tucked under her chin, her arms bracing her legs. He had to admire her commitment, it could always surprise him the depths of her devotion to perfection. Her short camisole was worthy of her newly made reputation. He wanted to ask how she had bought that without her parents knowing.

Harry fed the fireplace new wood and used his wand to start a fire. As the warmth and the glow of fire spread, he felt better prepared for this conversation. He sat beside her.

"My first night at Hogwarts was very different," she said, after a long silence. Harry could say the same, the unrelenting pain and the blood, Dumbledore's twinkling eyes observing his Ceremony, a faint smile on his thin lips as Fragment after Fragment entered his back, each one a greater wave of unbearable pain, the potions not letting his frayed mind to shut down. He pushed those memories away and focused on the girl at his side. "McGonagall led us down to the dungeons, hungry and scared. Muggleborns and those from poor families. Tossed us to the Prefects and closed the door behind her, going back to the banquet. I was chained to the wall and Marcus Flint tore my back open with a whip. I remember every single slash."

Her eyes were on the fire but unfocused, looking to a past that never happens in their new world.

"I was left still chained, sitting in a puddle of my own piss and vomit, the pain in my back like a white-hot iron pressed on my skin. And yet, I could only feel lucky they found me ugly enough to just beat me. I could hear Padma Patil's screams as Percy Weasley used her. She said over and over that her sister had her Fragments, one for each, they just needed to ask her. She screamed for a long, long time."

"She killed her sister that same week, for her betrayal," Harry added, immersed in long-forgotten memories of their childhood together in Hogwarts.

"I was in the dungeon for almost two months," Hermione continued, unaware of his comment. "Classes during the day, beatings at night. Not knowing if I was courageous or a coward to continue living like that, instead of hanging myself like some of the other muggleborns.

"Do you know when I reached the breaking point?" She didn't wait for his answer. "It was the day before Halloween. We, Unhoused, were having Potions with Gryffindors. I knew I wasn't going to resist much more. One of the Slytherins had spat on me on my way to class, Slughorn didn't allow me to clean myself before entering. The stench twisted my stomach. Sally-Ann Perks was just beside me. I felt lightheaded, as if in a dream. A pinch of powdered crump bone in her cauldron, she was too distracted to see my hand approaching. Her potion became a fetid mud and overflew, covering her from head to toe. She screamed and ran away from class. I followed her, Slughorn yelled for me to stay and clean that mess but I simply ignored him. Ignored everything. I knew there was a bathroom near the class. I entered it silently."

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

"Before leaving, I had cracked one potion vial. The glass shard in my pocket was like a fragile needle. Sally-Ann Perks was washing her hair in the sink. She couldn't see me," Hermione was bracing herself so strongly her knuckles were white. "And yet… I didn't feel as if I could do it. I couldn't take the last step. Do you know what gave me the final push?

"Her back. She removed her outer robes, so caked with that smelly mud from her potion. Her small, pure white back. Unblemished… unlashed. The pain from my lashes was a constant presence, never-ending suffering. And yet, there she was, a girl just like me, a witch just like me, unmarked, just because her granddaddy had given her a single Fragment. I didn't know any magic that could hurt a person but I could remember… sitting in my father's lap, reading anatomy books, telling him I was going to be a doctor when I grew up. He touched my neck, teaching me how to feel my own pulse, the proof I was alive…

"The glass shard entered her at that exact point. The spray of blood painted the entire mirror with red droplets. She couldn't scream as she drowned in her own lifeblood. She died in my arms, in that silent bathroom… I always wondered, how could I achieve such a perfect first kill? How could I slash her aorta in my first try? Maybe… my destiny is to be a murderer."

"You always said you don't believe in destiny," Harry countered, sliding his arm around her small shoulders, bringing her closer. She burrowed herself in his side, circling his torso with her left arm, her knees laying on his lap. She was still so cold. He used his wand to wordlessly stoke the fire, heat filling the Common Room. Her voice was barely over a whisper.

"I used her potions knife to open the body. I cut, slashed, skinned, from morning to dusk. I felt pure desperation, believing I had lost it somehow. That it had fallen from her body when I wasn't looking. It was dark when I dragged her through the corridors by her mousy brown hair. I knocked on McGonagall's door. What a sight I must be had been, caked in mud and blood, hauling a mangled body and that silver knife. I think I was crying, I remember her smooth, young hand on my face. 'What happened, child?' she asked. 'I have one, Professor. I swear I have one, I just can't find it.'

"The pain from the Ceremony was barely a pinch after those months in the dungeons. The next day, I was a Gryffindor, sharing a banquet with my fellow First Years, drinking and eating and laughing as much as I wanted."

"That's how our world used to be, Hermione. You did what you needed to survive."

But her eyes were still so distant.

"I murdered thousands of people. I poisoned them, I cut them, I cursed them, I hanged them, I beheaded them, I diced them, I drowned them, I impaled them, I slashed them, I smashed them, I boiled them, I immolated them, I electrocuted them and, a single time, I even shot them…"

"That was a really bad experiment, I'm glad your fingers grew back."

"And yet… Of all those murders, the one I remember most clearly is Sally-Ann Perks. Some of them I can't even distinguish, did I crush Draco Malfoy to death or skinned him until he bled out? How did I kill Fudge, Turner, Bryant, Hughes and that Marshall with the orange beard? The one with the Latin name?"

"Sally-Ann Perks was at the banquet."

"Yes," she whispered. "I saw her. It made me remember… things."

Harry grasped her chin and forced her head to the side, making her look him in the eye. Brown and green, chocolate and emerald.

"If I ordered you to murder Sally-Ann Perks, would you?"

"Yes, Harry."

"If I ordered you to murder your innocent parents, would you?"

"Yes, Harry."

"You know the Unbreakable Vow of Servitude isn't in effect in this world, don't you?"

"If you order me to plead the Vow again, I will."

He kissed her forehead, feeling the heat on her skin for the first time.

"The only thing I want you to do is to be happy in this new world, Hermione. We have different choices here, you don't need to be the same as you were."

But a Queen is such a capricious thing, like a cat. She was already asleep, he didn't know if his words were heard or not. Settling better on the couch, he summoned a blanket from one of the chairs and guided it to cover both of them. She pretended to be in deep sleep, he pretended to believe. And they slept their second first night in Hogwarts, together at least.

* * *

In both timelines, classes at Hogwarts made it quickly known that magic was more than silly words and wand-waving. In fact, the whole first month of studies passed and they still didn't do more than produce some sparks from their wands. However, the amount of study was leagues over any muggle school. After a short introduction about essay-writing, they were assigned homework after homework, forcing them to quickly get familiar with the library.

The castle, however, was a challenge in itself. There were thousands of doors in Hogwarts, some behaving as expected, others needing special passwords, spells or wand-movements to be opened. There were doors that only opened on Thursdays, doors that only open when politely asked, doors that grew bored at always opening to the same room and started to randomly open to different parts of the castle every time. And there were a lot of doors that weren't doors at all but walls pretending to be doors. The stairways moved, the portraits regularly left their paintings to visit and the suits of armour would patrol around the school. To challenge the maze and get to class in time was a feat only some of the First Years could do, even after an entire month.

Avoiding the constant hubbub and the dizzying movement of Hogwarts was one of the blessings of visiting Hagrid. The half-giant lived in a small hut near the Forbidden Forest, with no paintings, no moving objects and very little magic. He also could brew great tea, even if the scones were a health hazard.

"And then, Professor Flitwick said 'Harry Potter!' and almost fainted, the whole pile of books falling with him!" Daphne ended, Hagrid's loud laughter filling the small room. Harry pinched her side once more but the wench just dodged before his fingers could grasp the skin. "Come on, it was funny as hell!"

"Harry was really embarrassed," Hermione helpfully added. "But at least it was better than Professor Snape's first class."

Hagrid sighed, watching the two girls frown.

"Professor Snape 'n' James Potter were sworn enemies," the man offered. "Old rivalries die 'ard, my old man used to say."

"The man is really unprofessional," Hermione criticized, playing with a hard scone. Her dentist parents would disinherit her if she put that in her mouth. "He scares poor Neville to death, according to Daphne, and keeps docking points from Gryffindor for the most inane reasons."

Hagrid sighed again, pouring more tea on his mug.

"He tried to bully Harry with a pop-quiz on his first day," Daphne frowned, discreetly passing her scone to Fang, Hagrid's huge dog. "And the man's hate increased tenfold when Harry answered every single one of them correctly."

"Well, it was funny when a professor says to you 'books will only take you so far, real talent surpasses even the most dedicated bookworm'," Harry laughed. Hermione twisted her face but couldn't help but laugh.

"It's nice when other people are the ones called a bookworm."

"Oh, Hermione," Daphne teased, throwing her next scone at the girl. "The guys here have better names for you now."

Hagrid and Harry were caught unaware in the middle of a scone battle. Harry, more used to the girls than any other creature on Earth, simply dodged them and kept talking to the half-giant. Hagrid grasped on the boy's question about the creatures of the Forest to move away from the table-slash-battlefield and show him some pieces of a cracked egg, the size of an average man's fist. Hagrid had a lot of animal parts around his hut, being the gamekeeper, even some strands of unicorn hair that he would find from time to time in some bushes.

"Hagrid, did you know Hermione's here is our resident troublemaker?" Daphne counter-attacked.

"What?" The dazzled giant probably couldn't see how the intelligent, well-spoken girl could raise any kind of trouble. "'ermione? What did you do?"

Before the girl could defend herself, Daphne cut her.

"McGonagall keeps hounding her up because Hermione shortens her skirts or use makeup in class. She and Lavender Brown were assigned detention last week for 'violation of uniform standards'. What did she make you both do? Wear cassocks?"

"We had clean the Transfiguration classroom in track pants. And she threatened to write to our parents if we magically cut our clothes again. Also, she confiscated my earrings."

Harry had to constrain himself not to kiss her cute pout. Daphne seemed to be in the same situation, blushing a little. For a self-diagnosed frigid, the blonde had been stealing a great number of snogs between classes, from both of them. On the weekends, from both of them _at the same time_.

"Well," Hagrid said, looking awkward with the subject. "You could tone it down a lil' bit, eh?"

Hermione got up from her chair, opening her arms a little. She wore the Hogwarts robes over a quite normal female uniform, the attire most muggleborns preferred. The white blouse had the first three buttons opened and strained against her lithe body, as she had tied a knot on the left side of the hem. Her necktie was lazily stretched, the knot in the middle of her breasts. Her skirt should be hiding her knees, but instead, it was a good inch above them. It wasn't the short skirt Harry had seen, but for Hogwarts standards, she was in dire need of another detention. Hermione shook her head, she had made a messy fishtail braid with her hair over her right shoulder, as they had just left Herbology. She pointed at her skirt.

"Lavender taught me how to roll up the hem, see? This way, if some professor comes around, I can just tug it and, see, the skirt lengthens again quickly. McGonagall can even use the ruler spell to measure the cloth, everything is exactly in the standard."

"You could charm it to be aware of professors in the near proximity and unroll by itself," Daphne suggested. Hermione's eyes shone with interest, her hand flying inside her book bag for parchment.

"Ohh, I could use an invisible age line around me to detect adults, so I wouldn't need to tag each professor with a spell! But then I would need to charm every skirt… Or I could enchant a belt or waist chain… But then I would need to tie the chain to the cloth, and then make it roll back after the adult is outside the age line…"

"Hagrid, thank you for the tea, we are going back now," Harry said, taking the discussing girls with him, leaving behind the befuddled half-giant. After the door closed, Hagrid moved to the window, watching the kids' backs. Hermione had grasped Harry's left arm, talking fast and gesticulating with her free hand, while Daphne had her arm around his waist. The three were talking and laughing together, their proximity seeming natural.

The gamekeeper laughed and took the dishes outside.

* * *

The library was deadly quiet, not even a quill scratching parchment could be heard. Probably because of the spells, as the entire First Year was there, desperately roaming around the shelves, carrying loads of books. Professor McGonagall had tasked them with an incredibly long essay on basic wand movements. Not only they needed to write about them but also draw their own diagrams. As Harry walked to the deepest part of the Library, nobody bothered him, they were all too occupied. It was a sunny Saturday morning, every single person not assigned homework in the castle was outside, enjoying the last rays of sun before winter.

He bent down, near the bottom of the shelf. Most of the books there were very old, the dust on the spines attesting to the students' disinterest for them. Arithmancy had never been a popular subject, and lengthy historical treaties about the subject were mostly decorations on the shelf. Harry took the largest one, dragging the dust with him. He cracked the old volume open and took a bunch of parchment sheets from inside it. They were so yellow and dry it looked they would crack at any moment. Replacing the book on the shelf, he left the section.

Madam Pince, the old crone of a librarian was keeping watch on the students, her long, crooked nose giving her the face of a witch from child's tales. She was also known for threatening howdy students with life-long curses, the more painful the better. Harry approached her carefully.

"Madam, may I ask you something?"

The woman rolled her silvery eyes until they locked on him. Her brow twitched in irritation. Harry waved the parchment sheets.

"These annotations were inside one of the books, can you make a copy of them for me?"

"Are they signed?" Her voice was raspy as if she hardly used it. Harry could bet money on that to be true.

"No, madam."

"Are they handwritten?"

"Yes, madam."

"Keep them or throw them in the trash."

"Thank you," Harry sighed. The woman started to shuffle away from him. "Ah, another question!"

Her brow was so furrowed Harry was afraid her eyes would pop out. He could swear her hand was twitching near her wand. He gulped.

"In muggle libraries, it's possible to copy some pages for a fee. Do Hogwarts offer some service like that? To copy pages."

"You can copy any page for free."

"Great! What do I need to do?" In the previous Hogwarts, it was prohibited to copy any page from Hogwarts books, the pages themselves cursed against thieves. The woman offered him a twisted smile. She raised her hand and mimicked a quill writing on parchment. Without a word, she turned away and shuffled to her desk.

Harry could already feel the cramps from the last four hours of essay writing. Sighing to himself, he marched back to the Ancient Arithmancy section.

"At least my handwriting will improve, huh."

* * *

Holy crap, I'm finally back! Thank you all for your patience, these last two years had been a storm of work and studies. The First Year of TFE is completely done, I'll be posting the chapters very quickly this week, and them I'll post the whole First Year of Thesmophoria, coming back to post more of the Second Year here and so on until I post every single chapter already done. Thank you so much for sticking with me!


	5. Distractions

For as long as he could remember, darkness had been Harry's most constant companion. The cupboard under the stairs didn't have internal light, Uncle Vernon had never replaced the broken lightbulb inside it. During the night, after closing the small vent on the door, he would be completely encased in darkness, with only spiders to keep him company. After starting school, every punishment on Dursleys' house would set him back in his studies, as it was impossible to do homework in the dark. If not for the tight grip Petunia had on the Parent Teacher Association and the fear to enrage her, the school probably would have kept Harry stuck on first grade forever.

At Hogwarts, the one from his previous lifetime, most affairs needed to happen deep at night, when the patrols were reduced and only the strong roamed the corridors. And after that, he had spent so many years locked inside a metal box he wouldn't even bother with opening his eyes. Harry's new life was full of light, however. Even the dank and cold Potions classroom wasn't as dark as Harry remembered. The lack of shadow made him feel warm and energized but also exposed. That's why he still liked to sneak out the Tower during the night, guided only by his ears and the knowledge of a lifetime at Hogwarts.

Invisibility was a simple affair for a powerful wizard. Even without his seven Fragments, Harry had magical power in spades. After making himself invisible, odourless and silence his own steps, he could roam around Hogwarts to his heart content, sometimes for no reason at all. He would watch the portraits sleep, the exhausted Prefects make rounds, some unfortunate older students to be caught in strange positions inside the broom closets. His favourite spots, however, were far from the beaten path (as much as ever-changing Hogwarts could have a beaten path), corridors full of dust and doors that creaked to open.

His new Hogwarts had a sense of solitude and emptiness that still was hard to believe. There were so fewer students, just a handful of Professors and no magical creature at all. So much of the castle was unused, so many classrooms locked for ages. Walking through one of such corridors, he felt as if alone in the whole world.

He walked towards a simple large wooden door, almost absent-minded. Pressing his ear on the wood, he could faintly hear the growls of a giant beast. Sliding his hand over the nooks and knots of the door, Harry wondered if this worlds' Dumbledore was an idiot.

Maybe it was just age. The Fragments could delay the ravages of time for so long, only the weak would grow old. The Dumbledore he had known was a springy man around his thirties, sporting a coppery goatee and full bushy eyebrows, his long hair tied in a ponytail as was Pureblood fashion. The fragile, crooked thing that sat in his throne during meals had almost no semblance to the sadistic monster he knew. Even his deputy, the fearsome Minerva McGonagall was a wisp of a woman, twig-like arms covered in bulging bluish veins. It made him feel as if stepping in a sickly world, a place where magic was almost dead.

The ward on the door was feeble, the magic miscast. The monster on the other side was huge and deadly but it was only a beast. Maybe that was enough to stop a thief in his new world. During his first childhood, a Seventh Year could easily kill such a creature, even without resonating their magic with a partner. Harry was just a First Year, without the power boost of his Fragments. His magic couldn't hold a beast so enormous. He needed to challenge the task with knowledge, not strength.

His nighttime excursions into the Library made him realize how different Flamel was in the new world. The man was a legend long forgotten, choosing isolation instead of power. How different the world was, after the change of only a man! It made one wonder about the power of cascading effects, maybe his own decisions were shaping the world of a far in the future generation. Well, if he got the Stone, he could see that future with his own eyes.

For there was no doubt the beast guarded the Stone. In their first morning at Hogwarts, Hermione had read from the newspaper about an attempted robbery at Gringotts, exactly in the vault Hagrid had cleared on their trip to Diagon Alley. When slightly pressed about it, the half-giant had blurted the matter was something between Dumbledore and Flamel. They had faked mild interest on the matter but quickly dropped it. That same day, Hermione had perused the Library searching for every single book on Flamel, to compare stories from both worlds.

Harry left the door behind, remaking his steps and returning the dust to its former undisturbed layer. There was a picture of Flamel on that corridor, maybe a tongue in cheek hint left by their deranged headmaster. The man in the picture was old, older than Harry ever saw him. But he could recognize those features anywhere. The large forehead and cold blue eyes, the prominent nose and thin chin. In his old world, those features looked sharp and dangerous, like the apparent fragility of a thin blade. Looking at the picture, Harry could only see a weak man, eyes locked on an indistinguishable future, a mind too occupied with the mysteries of magic to properly use his own inventions. The fundamental difference was that Flamel was a scholar, not the inventor he had been. He didn't want to solve their world's problems, he wanted just to seek answers to his questions.

Glancing at his wristwatch, Harry decided it was already very late, so he took the path to Ravenclaw Tower. He had to slow down around the entrance to the Third Floor, however, when he heard slow steps. Pressing his body against one of the alcoves, he held his breath, the only thing he didn't risk to silence using magic.

The shadows of two men grew on the wall, as they approached one of the few lit torches. One was tall and lanky, his oily hair reflecting the light of the fire, his long stride making it difficult for the second character to keep in pace with him. A cat pranced behind them, making it easy to identify Snape's companion.

As they passed in front of his invisible form, Harry considered his options. He could wait for them to leave and then go back to his warm bed, or he could follow them and discover what the unusual pair was plotting in the middle of the night, just before Halloween. As they entered the Third Corridor, he decided to silently follow them.

He kept his distance and walked slow but Snape was so fast that very soon the only thing Harry could follow was the tip of Madam No-r-ra's tail. He wasn't surprised to find the pair was going directly to the forbidden door.

"Full of dust, those damn elves are slacking again," muttered Filch, moving the lantern he was carrying in a wide circle around him. "If only Professor Dumbledore allowed me to whip those little beasties…"

"Not even the most loyal House-Elf would dare to approach a Cerberus," Snape rebutted, his voice as oily as his hair. Harry would bet the man could make a groceries list sound full of contempt with a voice like that. He was one of those figures Harry hadn't met in his past life, making him curious about the Potions Master. A sad thing the man hated him so much, for no reason at all. And he was such a bad potions teacher! The confirmation of the creature being a Cerberus was the first thing he had learned from Snape, almost two months after he arrived at Hogwarts!

"Hagrid feeds him once per month, he is the only one who has the key… Are you sure…?"

"Keys are meaningless when one has magic," Snape sliced through Filch's words. "And the buffon can't be trusted with something so important, no matter what Dumbledore says. The banquet tomorrow will be the perfect distraction. If anyone comes here, warn me immediately."

Filch rubbed his hands nervously and licked his thin lips, his gaze sweeping from side to side in the dark, silent corridor.

"Yes, but how?" Harry had heard from some older students that Filch was a squib, something he found very appalling, as the man was the janitor of a huge castle slash school. Dumbledore still was a little bit sadistic, he thought. Snape rummaged on his own pocket, before taking something, Harry couldn't see what it was, just with the light coming from the window and the feeble light of the lantern.

"Look in the mirror and call my name, I will be able to see and hear you as if I were just in front of you. Call me as soon as someone comes, don't reveal yourself or try to engage them, even if it's a student."

Filch took the mirror with reverence, his entire posture trembling. Snape turned and walked away, silently, passing in front of an invisible Harry without noticing the boy. The janitor put down his lantern on the floor, just under the window and slid down on the wall, until he was seated. The cat jumped on his lap as if offering warmth for her owner.

"Don't let me fall asleep, my dear," the man whispered to the cat, scratching her between the perky ears. "Even if you have to bite me."

He raised the lantern and extinguished the flame with a blow. Silently, Harry left the man guarding the forbidden door in the dark.

Halloween was a special day in the wizarding world and at Hogwarts, it could be no different. There was a different kind of energy in the air as if excitation was pouring from the stones themselves. Some of the faculty tried in vain to fight or dampen it, like one horrifying double Potions class just before lunch when they worked on conserving pickled rat brain, starting with the rat still alive. Padma Patil threw up inside her cauldron, taking 15 points from Ravenclaw. Hermione gave her an encouraging smile and lost another point for "mockery".

His girls were beginning to get into a funk, so Harry took both to a simple picnic on the grounds, as they wanted to have a light lunch before the banquet. Under a willow tree, they burned vines, cherry wine and the first fruits of the earth as a gift for James and Lily Potter. Harry stood in silence for a long time, relieving the fragments of memories he had about his parents until the bell tolled and Daphne tugged his robes.

In the afternoon, they practised their first "real" charm: the floating charm, carefully guiding their feathers up in the air. At that time, Susan Bones, from Hufflepuff, nonchalantly informed Hermione the Gryffindors had been invited. Harry frowned, Terry's feather cutting in front of his and winning their quite sluggish race.

"You have plans for tomorrow?" He asked, trying to sound uninterested. Hermione gave him a mysterious smile, Michael Corner's feather falling to the ground as his spell failed.

"We are having a girls-only event," she answered, an elegant flick of her wand making her feather brush against his cheek in a very patronizing manner. "I'm afraid I can't tell you more."

"I didn't know you were friends with Susan Bones. Or any other girl besides Daphne," he said casually. Hermione tickled the back of Su Li's neck, eliciting a cute giggle from the small Chinese girl.

"What can I say? People like me."

She sounded absolutely smug, so Harry had to retaliate by tickling her. Like the savage he was, he used his hands instead of his magic to do it, prompting a too loud laugh from her and an amused chiding from Professor Flitwick. In the second race, he ended in second, just behind Padma, their feathers circling near the ceiling.

Feeling better after class, Harry and Hermione went back to the tower to prepare for the banquet. He showered and dressed in a fresh change of clothes, wearing an open Hogwarts robe over his uniform. After brushing his hair, he went back to the Common Room to wait for Hermione. He checked his watch, the entire preparation had taken a little more than five minutes. He guessed she would be ready in fifteen minutes, so he sat on one of the plushy chairs near the fireplace, picked a random book from the shelf and started to read.

Two hours later, he was beginning to feel impatient. In his last life, Hermione had been a simple, down-to-earth girl, who despised vanity and would rather use her time on a dusty old book or a gruesome experiment than with a hairbrush or a makeup kit. He had devised her punishment as a way to eat up her free time and, sneakily, to force her to be more confident in her own appearance. He didn't realize his own time would suffer because of her new-found interest in looking perfect.

And looking perfect she was. Her hair was like molten chocolate, curls and tresses cascading around her small, gorgeous face. She didn't have very distinguishing features, having just that innocent girl next door charm, unlike Daphne who had high cheekbones, a sculpted nose and striking grey-blue eyes, or even Ginny, all freckles and the most beautiful blood-red hair, darker than the rest of her family's. Hermione's face had still a hint of innocence from the girl she had been in their new world, a little baby fat still hanging on, her tall body still lithe and underdeveloped compared to the alluring woman he knew she would become. However, her eyes were unlike any other girl or even young woman Hogwarts held: deep, full of mirth and mystery as if she knew a joke no one else could understand. Harry knew she had unparalleled intelligence, the nearest magical person to Dumbledore's level of brilliance. It wasn't difficult to see why Perenelle wanted her. He knew he couldn't match her in raw brain power.

A hint of perfume enveloped his mind as she bent down and lightly touched his lips with hers. It was such an elegant and fluid gesture no one around them even took notice. She took his hand and tugged him, prompting the boy to raise from the chair without a word. Her fingers interlaced with his, such a simple thing and yet the beast in his chest roared with desire. They were too old for those young bodies, too wicked for those fresh, tiny faces. As if sensing his dark thoughts, she lightly scrapped the inner skin of his wrist with her long nails. He wanted to skip the banquet and have her in the alcove, under the torchlight.

"You look pale, are you feeling all right?" She asked, the devious witch. He growled, but the sound was pitiful in his broken boy voice.

"Punishment time," he muttered, shoving her in the damn alcove, his left-hand diving in the back of her hair, pulling roughly until her chin was pointing up, then savagely attacked her lips and small, hot tongue. He opened her robes and bit her neck, his hands forcing her legs to part, her protests dying on his lips. He wished he had more power, the strength and magic only his Fragments could provide. However, he could make it do with just his natural talents.

Cupping her in his right hand, he bent his magic under his will, like a man trying to control a river of molten lava with only his bare hands. His head hurt and his back tensed as the skin became covered by sweat. He left her mouth and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth searching the right spot as his magic was forced out. He bit her with enough force to provoke a cry and magic poured from his rigid hand, phantom fire brushing against her skin. There was no smoke, no ashes, the flame as greedy as his own desires, taking everything from her in a gasp of surprise.

He removed his hand and shamelessly licked his palm. Her eyes were scared and wild and full of heat, her small chest heaving, straining against her clothes, the robe circling her waist, held by the crook of her elbows. Her lipstick was smeared around her delightful lips, wind-swept hair glistening under the light of the torch. Her knees still forcibly apart, her back heading her upright against the cold stone wall. He let his hand fall on his side, turning away from the panting girl and hiding his reaction from her.

"Follow," he ordered, as a master training a dog, his voice strained by his feat of wandless magic. Her body complied before her thoughts could gather, her dishevelled appearance contrasting with her young charm. She shook her head, trying to dispel her shock.

"I paid fifty pounds for those knickers," she hissed, shrugging her shoulders to reset the robes properly, rubbing her wrist against her ruined lipstick. "You will pay me back for every single incinerated article of clothing."

He could hear the desire under her nagging, like a sweetness in the depths of her eyes. He still could do it and that was enough for some time. They needed to grow up a bit before he could properly tame his Black Queen.

Her light blush was beautiful and he couldn't help but cop a feel of her undefended bottom. Hearing her little "yeep!" stuck a smirk on his face not even Snape sour look could dampen.

* * *

"You know," muttered Hermione, her hand on his once again. "This Hogwarts is unexpectedly dangerous."

The gaggle of students around them was getting nervous by the wait, the staircase had moved away just as the Third Years passed. Penny had ordered her partner, Pearson, to keep his eye on them as she was abducted by the moving stairs. The Fifth Year Prefect, unfortunately, was a lazy ass. He probably just got the badge because no one else in their year wanted it. He had even ditched the First Years introductory trip in their first day, making the normally laid-back Penny Clearwater to scream in his face for a good half an hour during lunch the following day.

"Quirrell must be working with someone to get the prize," Harry theorized aloud. The man was a horrible actor and even worse teacher, his absolutely fake stutter hiding his complete lack of knowledge about Dark Arts. Even Daphne, the least skilled in that department was miles ahead of the supposed Professor. However, Dumbledore had quickly moved upon hearing there was a Troll in the castle, so it must have been true. Being in tune with Hogwarts wards, the old man would know if the beast was near. As he had sent everybody to their own Houses, even those that lived in the dungeons, Harry felt it was safe to assume the Troll was in the upper floors, but distant enough from Ravenclaw Tower.

He was wondering if the raven was going to propose a riddle even when the time was short and danger was around when he saw three boys moving alone in the corridor behind them. Harry knew every single path to Gryffindor House, assuming it was in the same place as in their last life, so he knew they were causing some trouble. The fact those two First Years were pushing a very unwilling housemate made him very wary.

"What are they doing?" Hermione wondered in a whisper. Be it in their old or new timelines, Hermione didn't like any of the boys. Even worse after Finnigan's constant explosions had dirtied her white blouse the week before. She gave them a last glance full of disdain before looking ahead again. "We should leave here and use another path, my feet are killing me. Bad time to try these heels."

"Well, you look gorgeous on them. Come on, let's scram."

He pulled her as they discreetly walked backwards, leaving the group of First and Second Years. Harry moved a tapestry off the wall and they went behind it, following a secret passage on the wall, before exiting in a desert corridor. He wished he could run but Hermione was already having trouble to follow his fast pace.

"We are not going to the Tower. Why do you want to follow those jocks?"

"I need one of those jocks for a plan," Harry retorted. "Can't you lose those heels?"

"They were my birthday present from Daphne," she cut him, cooly. "I'm just not very used to _run_ wearing them."

The corridor intersected in two opposing directions. Harry took his wand to use a quick tracking charm when a scream made it unnecessary. He roughly took Hermione in a bride carry and run in that direction, her little fists pounding his chest in annoyance.

"I can walk on my own, you bloody savage," she bit the hand that tried to muffle her voice. "Put me on the ground right now!"

He let her go when they approached the end of the corridor. She almost tumbled over but quickly propped herself back up.

"What is this stench?" She asked, frowning. Harry raised an eyebrow, giving her a look. "If those wankers came here to fight the fucking Troll, they deserve to die."

She slipped out of the offending heels, placing each shoe in a robe pocket before retrieving her wand. Her face changed to awkwardness.

"Without my Fragments, I can't take the thing on my own. And we shouldn't kill it, we are First Years!"

Harry nodded.

"I distract it, you extract the packages. I'll run towards the staircase, forcing it to pursue me. I'll take one of the secret passages, you take them back to their Tower, then we meet in our Common Room, okay?"

Her wand was already flashing dangerous red light from the tip.

"No Dark Magic," he ordered, another scream making him anxious. He needed the boy to be alive! " _Flipendo!_ "

The knock-back jinx made the door burst open, the bang of the wood against the wall stopping all motion inside the girls' bathroom. Harry charged ahead, the next spell on the tip of his tongue, Hermione sneaking behind him. Inside the big room, the smell was ten times worse, as if someone took Vernon's trusty wool socks and fried them in the grease of Snape's hair. He briefly wondered what kind of daily life could lead to a body odour like that.

The first thing he saw was the Troll, a big lump of grey, wart-riddled skin stretched over bulging muscles, a fat belly overflowing over his naked crotch and hiding his sex. The creature's arms were so long his small hands were below his knees, legs that looked like tree trunks sustaining the enormous body. At the top of it, a tiny head, the size of a big coconut, was almost brushing the ceiling. It lugged a tree behind him, crudely carved in the shape of a club. The beast had its back turned to him as it was looking at the corner on the back of the bathroom, where three boys were huddled together.

Two gingers were comically hugging a pudgy boy with mousy brown hair. The one on the left was Finnegan, the Irish Gryffindor prone to random explosions every time he tried to use his magic. On the right was Ron Weasley, one of the people Harry hated with a passion in his last life. One of the few ones he didn't have time to kill before being imprisoned. Fighting his bile down, he took his gaze from Longbottom's pale face and raised his wand.

The creature was so stupid it took a few seconds to turn back after it heard the loud noise of the door. Even so, it just twisted its grotesque torso, not even moving his legs. It was too close to the boys, if it raised his arms it could kill them. Two tiny eyes blinked in confusion.

" _Flipendo!_ " Harry jinxed, throwing one of the destroyed stall doors against the creature. The greyed skin was resistant against magic, any spell would need to be indirect. For a monster of that size, a simple door hitting it was like a being beaten with a toothpick. Harry needed something better. Bending down, letting Hermione slip into the bathroom unnoticed, he took an iron pipe and threw it at the Troll.

Its head didn't even flinch at the impact but it irked the creature enough for it to finally start moving. It couldn't raise its legs too much, its walk was barely over a shuffle, however, each step made the entire bathroom shake. Harry quickly went over the spells a First Year should know after just two months of magic.

"Come at me, mate!" He yelled, producing a shower of colourful sparks from the tip of his wand, waving it like a pathetic firework. If the Troll were a little bit less dim, it would have laughed at it. Feeling quite silly, Harry took a step back. He needed to Troll to start pursuing him, the creature looked just mildly interested in him. Trolls didn't chase fast preys, their huge bodies making it very inconvenient. They simply ate everything in their reach, be it tree, flesh or rock. There was only one way for it to run after something: he needed to make it see him as a threat.

" _Carpe Retractum_ ," he incanted, creating a cord of light between his wand and the creature's club. Harry moved his arm back, pulling the club a little bit. As it was a Third Year spell, Harry purposefully messed it up, making the spell too weak to pull the heavy club. The Troll pulled back, looking angry for the first time. " _Flipendo!_ "

As he cancelled the spell, Harry used the knock-back jinx on the club. The unexpected end of their tug-of-war and the jinx made the trunk fly away from the Troll's hand, smashing against one of the mirrors with enough force to make glass shards flying in every direction. The Troll howled, moving fast for a monster of its size. Harry prepared to run away, lowering his wand.

"Hey! You shitty-head, leave him ALONE!" Ron Weasley yelled, throwing a shower of sparks from his own wand. The Troll roared, making the whole bathroom shake and a few mirrors to fall from the walls, his hands flying wildly as it decided which side to attack first. His left hand moved towards Weasley as if trying to backhand him. With a cry, a slowly approaching Hermione was knocked back by the monster, falling in a heap against the back wall. There was blood on her forehead, Harry's heart fell in his chest while ice spread through his gut. Weasley moved his wand in despair, his eyes full of fear. "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSSA!"

The club raised in the air and hovered in the middle of the bathroom, too heavy for Weasley's feeble charm. Harry run forward, throwing caution to the wind and preparing a killing curse.

" _CARPE RETRACTUM_ _FLIPENDO_ _DEPULSO_ " Hermione's chain of spells hit the hovering club with deadly precision, lugging the huge piece of wood in her direction at breakneck speed before she cut the spell by slashing her wand through the air, a trail of orange wisps of light following the motion, her arm pointing to the flying club and throwing it back with enough force to produce a clap of thunder. The Troll was hit in the head like a hammer against a nut, the wood shattering on impact, almost cleanly breaking in the middle.

The monster dropped like a puppet which strings were cut, its knees buckling and the huge torso falling forward, it's tiny head reaching the floor almost at her feet. Her hair was a mess and blood dripped from a shallow cut on her forehead, her eyes were huge and her skirt was ripped. She let her arm fall as Harry locked her in his hug. He wanted to kiss her but, before he could reach her lips, she was stepping away from his grip. She looked at the three boys huddled in the corner.

"You," her voice was cold and her face was marred with an expression of pure loathing as she had found them under her shoe. "What the bloody hell were you doing here?"

"…Weasley forced Neville to prove he was a Gryffindor and see the Troll," Finnegan said after a long silence. "Did you kill it?"

"No," Harry said, poking the creature with his foot. "But she gave him a good concussion."

It also made the naked Troll lose control of its bladder, a puddle of fetid dark-orange piss grew under the monster, making the bathroom smell even worse until Harry felt his eyes pricking and tearing up. He roughly pulled Neville and Finnegan up, before scooping Hermione on his arms, this time she didn't whine about being carried again.

"A test of courage?" She barked the question, still looking threatening even when carried like a bride. Her naked feet dangling, covered in filth. "You almost died for a fucking test of courage?"

"We didn't want to fight the Troll," Finnegan explained, while Weasley's ear became angry red. "Only to see it, to tell the others about it. When it entered the boys' loo we thought we could lock it inside. But when Weasley went to close the door, the bloody thing was already coming out! We ran to the girls' but it followed us! Bloody scary, mate."

"I didn't do it alone," muttered Weasley, his voice growing in volume. "You was right beside me! You also said Neville needed to grow a pair after Malfoy stole his Remembrall during Flight Class!"

"It's all my fault," Neville muttered, his head hanging down. "I'm sorry for involving you guys at it. I even broke my father's wand. My grandma is going to kill me."

He showed them a wand cleanly snapped in two, the pieces only held together by something that looked like a very frayed feather. Harry noticed how Olivander weaved the feather in a thin thread-like braid. He had always wondered about how the man put cores inside the wood, mainly the bulky feathers and the soft dragon heartstrings. Hermione frowned.

"Neville, if those two jocks are saying the truth, you aren't at fault," her tone was the gentler it had been since the start of their ordeal. The boy blushed, not daring to raise his head. Finnegan was looking at her, entranced. "You don't need to prove you belong in Gryffindor. If the Hat placed you there, it was because it felt Gryffindor would turn your potential into power. One day, you will prove everybody how courageous you are."

Neville nodded, his head down. Finnegan shook his head as if waking from a dream and slapped the pudgy boy's shoulder.

"Well, I think we had enough adventure for a night, eh, mate? I don't know about you guys but I'm ready for a kip myself."

"Oh, before parting, you have something to do," Hermione said, sounding serious enough to make the boys stop and pay attention, even Harry. "You will go to Professor McGonagall and tell her you two broke Neville's wand. Also, you never saw us, we have nothing to do with the Troll, the bathroom and even with you. This is unnegotiable. If you chicken out or if our names were involved in this, I'll go tell McGonagall the unedited version of the story. Do you understand?"

"Yes", muttered the three Gryffindors, looking like kicked puppies. The witch smiled, burrowing her face contently on Harry's neck.

* * *

Hermione filled the bowls with wizarding junk food, spiked the drinks, fluffed the pillows and charmed the stone floor to be warm and a little soft. There was faint music in the air, from Daphne's Wireless, the lights dimmed just enough to give the room a more intimate feeling. Her blonde fellow time-traveller was sorting crystal bottles of nail polish, humming to herself.

"Are you sure this is okay?" asked Padma Patil, instead of greeting, as soon as she opened the door. Hermione rolled her eyes, faintly amused by there anxiety radiating from the Indian witch.

"If everybody keeps their mouths shut, no-one will ever know we did this, Padma," Hermione assured.

"That was a very convoluted way to say 'no, Padma, this is not okay'," the girl retorted, looking at the door she had just closed. "Who else is coming?"

"Everybody is coming," sing-sang Daphne. "At least, we invited everybody."

"Even the _Slytherins_?"

"I assure you we don't want to _be_ here, Patil," said Parkinson, quietly ushing her housemates inside the room. "But Greengrass was a pain all week until we caved in."

Davies and Bulstrode were looking very out of place, the portly Slytherin girl clutching a pillow against her already developing chest. She was the largest girl of their entire year group, even if not the tallest, and clearly wasn't very comfortable in her own skin. Hermione waved them closer, pointing at the pillows, cushions and mattresses were haphazardly thrown around the room.

"Come on, Parkinson, don't be such a bitch," Daphne whined, tossing her a bag of Berties All Flavor Beans. "You are scaring our guests."

Lavender, Parvati and Sally-Ann didn't seem scared, instead, they looked at the assortment of witches in confusion.

"I thought this was going to be a small gathering?" Parvati asked. "But you really invited everyone?"

The door opened for the last time and the Hufflepuff girls walked in. Hermione was delighted to see they had brought more tasty pastries and other wizarding food, as long as two big jugs of pumpkin juice, carried by Hannah Abbot.

"Daphne and I thought it would be nice to gather all the First Year witches for a party," Hermione started. At the centre of the circular room, there was a basin made of stone, filled with scented firewood Hermione had gathered at the Forest. She waved her wand and muttered a spell, a raging fire eating up the wood and letting flow a delicious perfume. She carefully lowered an iron grate over the fire, getting it ready for the marshmallow she had brought. "This is an opportunity to get to know better our year mates before House prejudice gets in the way too much. The Second Years already ignore us, they want to look mature and hang out with the older students, so we only have each other in this school. We shouldn't let House borders interfere in our friendships."

"Making friends, you say," Parkinson provoked her, letting her robe slip down to the ground and showing them her green silk camisole. As Hermione and Daphne were really adults in the bodies of children, it was obvious Parkinson was the most mature girl of their year, full of malicious eyes and mean words. While her face was still a work in progress, she already knew some makeup tricks and had a maturing body already on the way to being gorgeous. "What about checking the competition?"

"What?"

"Please, Granger," her smile was clearly patronizing. "You don't think we haven't seen it? You already sunk your claws on Potter, it's clear for everybody."

 _More like he sunk his claws on me_ , Hermione thought. He had incinerated her knickers once again, just before breakfast. Walking around without them was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. She needed to recommend it to Daphne.

"Is it true that Seamus asked you to become his girlfriend?" Parvati butted in, making Daphne laugh aloud. The other girls, so awkward around each other at first, quickly united against her. Hermione rolled her eyes again, _girls and love talk, something that goes together no matter what timeline_.

"He was very sweet, got me a rose and everything" she confessed, prompting a round of giggles. "But I had to turn him down."

"So it _is_ true, about you and Harry?" Susan asked. Hermione shrugged.

"We hadn't talked about it," she offered nonchalantly, "but I guess you can say we are kind of dating."

The _oohs_ and _ahhs_ from the girls made her feel a little bit smug about it. She knew they would round up her again, so Hermione decided to throw another girl under the proverbial Knight Bus.

"If I heard it correctly, I wasn't the only girl to have a not so secret admirer. Care to share, Lavender?"

She used the distraction to pass food around, mostly grilled marshmallows, assorted wizarding sweets and warm glass bottles.

"What is this?" Asked one of the muggleborn First Years.

"Butterbeer," retorted Parkinson. "A non-alcoholic wizarding beverage. Where did you get it, Granger?"

"I asked some older students to bring a casket for us. I thought it would be nice, after the scare with the Troll yesterday. Drink it up, Leanne, it's sweet and keeps you warm."

The girl's eyes popped out in wonder at her first sip, prompting the few reluctant witches to drink from their own bottles. Parkinson was wrong, however. Hermione had added a small amount of something else in the drinks, just to relax them a little bit. To keep things fair, she drank from her own spiked bottle.

"Are you sure this is alright?" Padma asked once again. She and Parvati were huddled together, a slime tugging at her lips even then. They were very close and the House separation had made the Ravenclaw girl even more anxious. Hermione smiled at her, amused.

"This room is very well-hidden and the boys are covering for us. At least in Ravenclaw."

"In Gryffindor too," Lavender added. "I asked Dean and Seamus. They wanted to say no but when I said it was you that asked, they jumped at it!"

"No one would dare to be a tattletale in Slytherin," Parkinson added over the giggles. She had a slight flush on her face, after drinking half of the bottle. By then, the beverage and the warmth from the grill had made more than half of the girls to dispose of their robes, leaving them in pyjamas, camisoles and other assorted sleepwear.

"I asked Cedric Diggory to cover for us," Susan told them, eliciting some girls to giggle and others to gasp. "Yes, yes, I talked to Cedric Diggory! He was so nice…"

"I said I would help you," Daphne muttered in Hermione's ear, her breath a mix of butterbeer and a sweetness that was all Daphne. Hermione felt hot under her clothes and knew it wasn't because of the alcohol. "But you didn't tell me why you wanted a slumber party."

Hermione watched the girls interact, the laughter and the teasing, junk food disappearing and tentative bonds being forged. Parkinson watched her back, swinging her bottle back and drinking the last bit of her beverage. Sally-Ann Perks was blowing a piping hot marshmallow, licking her burnt finger.

"Maybe I wanted to believe this is a different world," Hermione whispered back. "Maybe I wanted to make changes, myself, instead of waiting for Harry to act."

"This can lead to a very bad path," Daphne warned, her lips brushing faintly against Hermione's nape. "Without the magic from the Stone, we can't jump to another timeline if things go bad here."

Hermione cupped the blonde's face with her left hand, so briefly it was barely a touch. Daphne gave her a smile, before stuffing her face with a chocolate frog.

"You'll get fat," Hermione teased, prompting her fellow adult woman to blow her a raspberry.

"Granger?" Parvati called. "Granger? Hermione?"

"Ah, sorry! What have you said?"

"Did you kiss Harry Potter?"

Silence fell over the other girls, even the Slytherins. Hermione's tongue acted faster than her brain.

"Yes."

This time there were more whispers than giggles. Feeling unexpectedly bold, Lavender attacked.

"I don't believe you already had your first kiss!"

"Oh," Daphne interjected, a malicious smile on her face, making her look like a proper Slytherin. "Harry Potter wasn't Mione's first ki-"

Hermione muffled that traitor mouth with her hand as the other girls gasped. Feeling her already tattered reputation to plummet, she really wanted to spank the blonde ex-Veela.

"You bitch," she muttered, already planning her revenge. Daphne laughed quietly under her hand. Hermione raised her head. "It was before Hogwarts and just once. With a muggle friend."

Her traitorous memory couldn't help but flash her a wave of periwinkle blue and strong foreign hands around her waist. A faint smell of Firewhiskey floated in her mind as she buried those memories again.

The girls were talking again, laughing and trading stories. Lavender proposed a game of truth or dare that would be very dangerous as the First Years were already a little bit light-headed. Hermione felt a tug on her short camisole and prepared herself to berate Daphne when she found the timid eyes of Hannah Abbot.

"How was it like?" The girl asked quietly, her pigtails and fluffy cheeks making her look so innocent and cute. "To kiss?"

Feeling her reputation couldn't be worse, feeling the world could be different from the life of suffering, death and betrayal and feeling more than a little mischievous, she didn't answer.

Hearing a bottle dropping and shattering in the back of her mind, she closed her eyes and softly kissed those innocent lips.

* * *

As promised, another chapter. I'll be posting the next one probably tomorrow or the day after, so stay tuned!

I was overwhelmed by the incredible amount of reviews, even after two years of hiatus. Thank you so much for believing in this story and for keeping it in your reading lists. In a few minutes I'll properly answer every single review I received, so for now, I just want to thank you all for being such great and patient readers!

Finally, let me talk a little about the plot so far and what to expect next: many of you have asked me about flashbacks of the "other world", and they won't happen. I don't like flashbacks. As we have seen in the previous chapters, the four characters will slowly release bits of information and that will happen for the entire story, we will have to reconstruct the world they lived from those small fragments, until we complete a broader view. It's not in my plans to write a story in the other world but if anyone is up to the task, you are welcome to do so. I don't believe in "copyrighted fan fiction", so any of my stories can be messed with, don't forget to drop me a PM with the link!

Unlike Thesmophoria, this story is almost strictly from Harry's point of view. Some small bits, like the prologue and the slumber party are told by other characters. So, the picture we are going to obtain from the other world is Harry's biased view.

And, to wrap this up, this First Year won't be just about the search for the Stone, in the next chapter we will see some pretty darn obvious divergences between the canon and TFE. However, the bits that do look exactly like the books, or can be safely assumed, I'll skip, just like the Sorting, the Banquet and some classes. That's my way to quickly go to the meat of this story and will happen less and less as we diverge from canon. Thank you all once again and see you soon!


	6. Encounters

The antiseptic smell wafting in the Infirmary made Harry remember the Emperor's lab, a place of death, misery and miracles. Instead of torches on the walls, there were floating candles near the ceiling, exposing the large room under a cold white light. On his right side, tall cupboards held potions and magical instruments, while to his left a row of metal bed stretched until the back of the room, each one hidden by white folding screens.

"Are you hurt, Mr Potter?" The greying matron asked him, raising her eyes from a magazine, her burly medical robes hiding a small stool under her. The Madam Pomfrey he once knew was a young woman full of compassion for the sick and the hurt. As a Healer, she couldn't hold a position in the Emperor's army and her Oath made her unable to kill or hurt, even to save her own life. The Emperor once had said to Harry that Healers were the most fearsome creatures on Earth. Harry had believed him wholeheartedly.

"No, Madam Pomfrey," he answered with utmost respect. "I'm here to visit Neville."

The woman nodded, returning to her gossip magazine.

"He's at the back, remember to keep it down."

The boy crossed the Infirmary and pushed the screen away from the last bed. Neville was propped up by a bunch of pillows, his right arm tightly wrapped in bandages resting over the bedsheets. His pudgy cheeks were back to their normal colour.

"Harry?" He asked in surprise. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt too?"

"I've come to visit you, mate. Heard about the fall from Padma, she told me you were white as a sheet. What happened?"

Neville blushed, lowering his head and gripping the covers with his healthy hand. Harry took a seat at the end of the bed, resting the book on his lap.

"It was Malfoy," the boy muttered after some time. "He hit me with the leg-locker curse again. I couldn't remember the counter-curse… I tried to go to the Library to ask Hermione to do the counter for me, again. The stairway moved and I lost balance, fell over the handrail…"

"Ouch," Harry winced in sympathy. Neville let a sardonic laugh scape.

"Malfoy is right, I'm a squib. You know, all my family believed I didn't have magic, even my grandma. One day, my great-uncle Algie was holding me by the ankles out the window to see if I had a burst of accidental magic… Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he let me drop accidentally. Instead of cracking my skull, I bounced in the ground, my first time using magic. The whole family threw a party for me."

Harry frowned.

"Your uncle doesn't sound good in the head."

Neville shrugged.

"He gave me a toad as a present that day. Trevor is always escaping and hiding from me, though. I thought Hogwarts would be different, that I only needed to find something I was good at and everything would… fit in."

"I heard you skill improved after you got your new wand."

Neville reached for the bedside table, taking a piece wood carved with tiny vines and leaves, its reddish hue glowing under the white light.

"Spells feel easier now but a new wand can't improve my memory… or help me with my fears…"

"And what about Herbology? Professor Sprout talks non-stop about you, even in our classes."

The boy blushed again.

"She is just happy someone is interested in Herbology."

Harry rolled his eyes at the boy's constant negativity.

"Neville, you know what you need to keep your head out of this black cloud?" He pushed the book to the boy's lap. "A nice reading. I've got this one from the Library, it was just a bunch of annotations and references, I found the books it mentioned and copied the pages, organized everything and sew it together to become more like a book. It took me ages, so take good care of it."

Neville took the bundle of pages and read the title.

" _Principles of Applied Arithmancy, by various authors_. Harry, I know nothing about Arithmancy."

"Me neither," Harry lied. "But I could understand it, you know. The annotations made everything seem so clear. You should try to read it and you can give me back after the hols. Think you will be here for more days?"

"Nah," Neville shook his head. "Madam Pomfrey only made me sleep here yesterday because I broke the same wrist as last time, at the Flying Class. She was worried some residual magic would mix with the new healing spell. I think I'll be discharged before dinner."

"Great!" Harry slapped Neville's shoulder, getting up. "It's good you are back in track already. You can't be sick at the hols. Any plans?"

Neville strained a smile.

"We always do the same, dinner with family, I take care of my plants… visit the hospital…"

"Well, I'm staying here, you can Floo call me if you feel too lonely," Harry smiled. "See you at dinner, then! Rest well."

Harry carefully put the screen back in place, closing his eyes for a moment. A ruffle of pages came from the enclosure. He left the Infirmary with a last respectful nod to the uninterested matron.

* * *

The station was buzzing with activity as Hermione hopped down from the train, her book bag swinging from her shoulder. After whole three months of punishment, her sensible jeans, black sneakers and baggy hoodie made her feel stuffy instead of reassuring. Not for the last time, she wondered if Harry was brainwashing her into a slut. She shrugged mentally, before helping Daphne off the train.

"Can you see your parents?" She asked, trying to keep her voice above the noise of the platform. Daphne scanned the crowd with an icy blue gaze, before point to a tall family waiting next to one of the food stands.

"Ugh, I so wanted to be at Hogwarts right now," the blonde sighed, closing her expansive purse with a silent click. "Dinner with the prudes will be arrgh."

"Very eloquent," Hermione teased. "I think it's better if we separate now, I don't want to impose my mudblood stench on your family."

Daphne hugged her lightly, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

"If only they knew what else you have imposed in me," the girl sighed, letting the older girl go.

"Not in this life, Daph," Hermione winked. "Not yet."

Hermione watched the halo of blonde hair move away from her and be swallowed by the gaggle of students leaving the train. Feeling strange, she moved away towards the exit, her mind full of dark and muddy thoughts. The guard signalled her to cross and she stepped into the wall, a moment of darkness before she was assaulted by the sounds, smells and the sheer sensation of movement of King's Cross.

For a single instant, she was gripped by a strange fear, a sensation of deja-vu, a memory of a time when she stepped out the platform to find a bunch of excuses in the form of a nervous neighbour, an awkward trip back to a house with a blue door and a month of silence. Her foot hovered in the air, her skin breaking in goosebumps, her head in full vertigo.

"Hermione!" A voice called and strong, soft arms involved her, embraced her until the spell broke and her step finished in a stumble, perfume and hair in her face, warms sliding on her back.

"Mom," Hermione gasped. "I can't breathe."

"Breath is overestimated," Miranda retorted, crushing her ribs. Warm lips touched the crown of her head, a strong hand taking the book bag from her.

"You are taller," he said, his voice a hint of hoarseness under a pretence of normalcy. Her mother let her go, just to grip her shoulders and scan her with a laser-like gaze.

"You are taller," she diagnosed. "You are thinner! Oh my God, you are a woman already!"

"Mom!" Hermione whined, all mud and darkness leaving her as if never there. "You are embarrassing me!"

"She's getting _embarrassed_ ," her mother repeated, her voice dripping with amusement and wonder. "Oh my God, I'm the mother of a _teenager_!"

Out of her depth, Hermione took her hand and pulled the woman away from the platform.

"The car, let's go to the car, where did you park the car?"

"What happened to your teeth?" Her observant dad cut, his eyes growing a little sad. "Hermione, what did we say to you about mixing _that_ and dentistry?"

"Hermione?"

"Dad, mom, can we talk in the car? I swear I have an explanation for it. _Please_?"

"Hermione?" The girl turned back, a small girl between two adults waved. "See you next term, have a nice Christmas!"

"Oh, same to you Leanne! Call me anytime you want!"

"You have _friends_?"

"That was awfully rude," Hermione retorted, giving her mother the stink eye. "To the car! Now!"

The door was barely closed behind her when her parents pounced on with questions. Hermione tried her best to remember how to act like the girl before the transfer, the girl she had been in their last world before so much had happened. A coarse, scarred part of her thought that little play was a waste of time, that they would flee at the drop of a hat if things went south again. That solitary corner of her heart could remember every day and every night of pain, of pleading they came to save her, to hold her, to kill her and stop that nightmare. A broader part of her felt confusion, anger, pain, hope, despair, all at the same time as a dazzling hurricane of emotions. And a tiny speck of the girl she had been, the pearl of purity in the darkness of a Queen's heart just wanted to hug them and be a child once more.

She buried her face in the back of her mother's hair, her small hands sliding down and her thin arms circling her neck. She breathed the perfume of home and smiled quietly.

"I've missed you."

She felt tears in her skin, her mother sniffling loudly, her father suspiciously facing forward, the car moving at last.

"What about the teeth?" He said, almost completely in control. Hermione laughed.

"I was practising a spell when it went awry, it hit me in the face," there was once a time when she couldn't lie to them. Not long after, there was a time when she lied for them. _The wheel is come full circle: I am here_ , she thought in amusement and sadness. "My front teeth started to grow uncontrollably. I was taken to the Infirmary and Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, ended the spell and restored my teeth. Later, I read on the spell she used and saw that it didn't return them to how they were before but, in fact, reset them to their most optimal condition. This seems to be a common concept in healing spells, a broken bone isn't just mended but magically restored to be the best bone it could be, resetting even the natural wear from grinding against each other. Buuut, I will need to set an appointment with my dentist to check if everything is all right," she announced, pecking her father on the cheek and receiving an affectionate pat on her head, his eyes on the lane.

"We'll take care of that tomorrow."

"Maybe this resetting to optimal conditions is the reason why wizards live so long and don't look as old as they really are?" Her mother proposed. It was so strange to talk magic with her parents and, even more, for them to know something about it. Hermione pondered the question.

"Probably not. Powerful magic always leaves a trace behind, something we call the residue. Residual magic is very dangerous, as it can interfere with spells you are placing on an object. If one would try to heal his entire body, it would be very dangerous as the residue from healing one bone would start to interfere with the healing of the next one. Even two equal spells can't be placed on the same object without some interference. A boy from my class broke his wrist twice in the span of a few weeks and it was already dangerous to heal it the second time."

"So, it's normal for dangerous accidents to occur in this school of yours?" Asked her dad, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Magic is dangerous," Hermione answered truthfully. "Even more dangerous in the hands of clumsy or distracted people. However, magic is very powerful and that makes it possible to quickly heal the body, so the bar for what is 'risky' is higher in the wizarding world. I think it's more or less like a root canal: a hundred years ago, it was a risky surgery, nowadays it's a common procedure. The notion of danger changes as we learn how to control and mitigate the risks."

It was a nice thing she had always been a very well-spoken child with a brilliance that scared her teachers. Hermione was a good enough actress when needed but the toll of pretending to be a dumb, barely articulate child would be even worse than Azkaban. Her parents seemed to take her very logical argument in stride.

"That's why potions are considered better for healing?" Her mother asked, citing the prologue of her Potions book. "The same potions you used on your hair to make it look this gorgeous and I can't use on mine?"

"Yes, and yes. It's dangerous, mom. I don't want to make you become bald."

"But potions depend on the magic intrinsic to the ingredients, not on the user's internal magic, don't they?"

Hermione felt the urge to pat her mother's head, like a teacher showering a bright pupil on affection. She was sure most Seventh Years couldn't pose such a great question like that.

"You are right, even a person with no magic can use potions and something will happen to them. The problem is, however, a person with no magic has no resistance to the magical toxins in the ingredients. If I were to eat raw salamander skin, I'll be violently ill, maybe even develop a high fever. You, however, would be dead before it reached your stomach. For a person with no magic, it's better to style their hair with spells, instead of potions. Unfortunately…'

"You can't do magic at home before you are seventeen," her mother sighed. "Okay, who was that girl, on the platform?"

"Leanne is a fellow year mate. I made some good friends and they encouraged me to be a little more outgoing and try to engage in talking with the other girls. I'm at least acquaintances with every single girl in our year, and I'm good friends with at least half of them."

Her mother shined her a beautiful smile. Her dad, however, tried to be casual in his next question.

"What about the boys?"

"Oh," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Most of the boys our year is so… infuriating. One of them asked me to be his girlfriend last month."

The car swerved dangerously, making Hermione clutch her seatbelt. Miranda glared at her sweating husband. She smiled amusedly at her daughter.

"What did you said to him?"

"Oh, I refused immediately. He is a menace and I don't have time for that kind of thing if I want to keep focusing in my studies," Hermione's dad's fingers slowly released their death grip on the wheel. "Besides, I already have a boy I like."

The car swerved so hard Miranda had to grip the back of her headrest to not be thrown forward.

"John!"

Hermione dangerously unbuckled her seatbelt and hugged her father from the back, her arms snaking around his torso and her lips finding his cheek again.

"I love you, daddy," she whispered in his ear. Her mother caressed her head, making her feel as if everything was right in the world.

At least, for now.

* * *

Harry pressed the doorbell, jumping in surprise at the electrical noise it made. He wondered if he really was in a wizard's house or if the goblins had pranked him. When the light shone on the window, an inconfundible lightbulb yellow, he had a hard time choosing what was most unlikely.

The door opened and a tall man with greying hair stepped in the porch. Loud music floated from inside, something with too many electric guitars and bagpipes? The man smiled at him.

"Mr Potter, I presume?" He said, his voice pleasant and warm. The man offered his hand and Harry shook it firmly. "I'm Edward Tonks but please call me Ted."

"Good evening, Ted," Harry greeted. "Thank you for setting me an appointment so soon."

"Please come inside," the man moved away from the door, letting Harry step inside. The door closed behind them on its own. "We stop attending around two weeks before Christmas but… well, you must know that it would be hard for us to deny an appointment with Harry Potter."

"Are you muggleborn, Mr Tonks?"

"What gave me out? The neighbourhood, the doorbell, the music or the non-moving pictures on the wall?" The man asked good-naturedly, taking Harry's coat and hanging it on a hook by the door.

"You said 'Christmas' instead of 'Yule'," Harry answered, looking at the frozen picture of Ted with a beautiful raven-haired woman and a small girl. "But the rest helped a little bit."

Mr Tonks laughed. A door slammed upstairs, the music sounded even louder for a moment and then abruptly disappeared. As the pictures in the wall still shook slightly, it was probably a silencing spell.

"I thought she would settle down a bit after graduating," a woman's voice wafted from another room, quietly as if she was talking to herself. She entered the room from what Harry supposed was the kitchen door, hair so dark it shone under the light, a beautiful mature face unblemished by wrinkles. She was wearing a simple dark green dress and pearl earrings but exulted so much elegance that Harry couldn't help but stare a little bit. She smiled at him and he quickly gathered his thoughts before it became rude.

"Mrs Tonks?" He offered, moving towards her and shaking her hand. "I'm Harry Potter, thank you for having me."

"Thank you for coming, Mr Potter," her gaze held on his face for an instant, before she closed her eyes and sighed. "You really look exactly like your father. But with your mother's eyes."

"Were you close?" He asked, wondering not for the first time at the devotion and love people used when talking about his mother.

"We worked together, for some time, before you were born. And, before that, we worked for them for some months. I think that's how you found us?"

"In fact, no," they moved to a small office where a small round table with three chairs waited for them. There was also a desk, covered in mountains of parchment and a set of shelves behind it, full of thick and solemn tomes bound in leather. "Hagrid recommended you. You worked for my parents before?"

"Yes, Lily needed my husband to write up the contract for a house she was gifting her sister and we both worked on their wills. At that time, it wasn't rare for… politically engaged people to have one."

"What did the will say?"

The Tonks exchanged glances before Ted assumed.

"Unfortunately we can't say. Our oaths as solicitors prevent us to divulge information without express permission. You should have a copy of it in your vault if you want to consult it. If you bring it here, we can attest to its authenticity."

Harry mentally schedule another trip to Gringotts before deciding to go straight to the point. He put the folder he was carrying on the table, pushing it towards the Tonks.

"I went to Gringotts this summer and discovered my assets have been just collecting dust these last ten years. As Goblins don't invest their clients' money, I have gained nothing from that gold, except the shares my family is paid for the many patents my grandfather registered. However, no one is taking care of the patent violations. I need legal counsel about how to deal with the ones that are stealing my grandfather's work and to prevent it from happening again."

Andromeda nodded as she skimmed over the folder's contents.

"As you are a minor, you need your guardian's permission to move your assets or sign legal documents, including the ones we will need to move forward with this matter. Where are your guardians?"

"I'm living with Muggles."

That made both adults pause and exchange glances. Harry pushed that Gringotts visit all the way to the top of his list.

"That makes things more difficult. Muggles hold very little legal power in our world and it would be hard for them to control your finances… You'll need a legal proxy, an adult wizard or witch who you trust as they'll have access to your whole fortune."

"Is it possible to limit the amount of money my proxy can have access to?"

Andromeda nodded.

"A proxy needs a contract to assume their functions, so we can include various limitations to their role. You'll need your legal guardian to sign it, however."

"That's no problem," Harry assured. "I also will need your help with finding a prospective proxy for me. Hagrid said to me there is a surviving close friend of my family, Remus John Lupin, am I right?"

Andromeda made a pained face before she could control herself. Harry arched an eyebrow at it.

"Is there a problem with him? Is he dead?"

"Remus is alive, as far as we know it. He…"

"…he left the wizarding world, after the war," Ted finished. "We can attest to his integrity but it may be difficult to track him down and we don't know for sure if he will want to become your proxy. In that case, it's better for you to already have another name as a backup."

"Would there be a conflict of interest if you did it, Mrs Tonks?"

"Me?" The woman sounded surprised, she looked at her husband. "Why me?"

"Aren't we kind of family?"

The woman looked scared for a moment.

"My grandmother was a Black, wasn't she?" He asked, finding her reactions so far very strange. As if she was guilty of something. Hearing his words, she sighed in relief.

"Yes, I had forgotten Dorea Potter was a Black. No, no conflict of interest, you can be assured. I'll draw a contract with very limited powers to your proxy, be it Remus or me. Then we can see about your patents."

"And my business plan."

"Excuse me?" Mr Tonks said, his wand moving towards a kettle that flew through the door followed by three cups. The tea set quickly got in place, the kettle serving tea on its own. Harry took a roll of parchment from one of his pockets.

"As I was raised muggle, matters in the wizarding world look fresh and full of possibilities. That's why I could see a niche for a small business, something useful and not too costly. One of my friends turned the idea into a proper business plan but I have no idea how to register a business in the muggle world."

"In the muggle world?" Mr Tonks repeated, unrolling the scroll and flattening it on the table, Andromeda tipping her head to read it at the same time. Daphne's neat handwriting delineating a rough plan for his idea.

"You could have problems with the Statute of Secrecy," Andromeda started but Ted shook his head. "No? But this is…?"

"He already covered his bases on it. It's… are you sure you are eleven? I didn't want to mention it before but… You _sure_ don't act eleven."

"I had to grow fast."

Ted raised from his chair and stretched his neck.

"I think we should move to the drawing room and have something to eat, this is going to be a long conversation. Also, my wife will feel a lot better after addressing some issues between her family and yours."

Andromeda sighed.

"What do you mean, what do I have to do with the Blacks?"

"It's a difficult story but I won't accept working for you before you fully understand our situation," the woman said, taking the folder from the table. "It's about my cousin Sirius. But, before that, do you have to go back soon? It's getting a little late and this will take a while."

"Don't worry, I can go back anytime."

Andromeda paused.

"Where are you spending the holidays?"

"At Hogwarts."

"Do you have authorization from Dumbledore to be here?"

Harry offered her an awkward smile. The music upstairs became so loud it broke through the silencing charms, bass and pipes and scratchy screaming pouring over them. Andromeda covered her face with her hands in exasperation.

"You really are James' son."

* * *

"Is dinner not to your liking, Daughter?" Gerard Greengrass asked, swirling his goblet of elf wine. "You hardly talked since you came back home."

"Dinner is delicious as always, Father," Daphne replied. "Our silent home feels… different, after these last months at Hogwarts."

"Ah, yes," the tall man nodded, his blond ponytail moving with his head, his icy blue eyes closing briefly. "Hogwarts was a shocking experience when I was your age. So many wizards together, so much noise and shouting… and the _smell_ … A stench of mudblood that crawled up my nose in every class and in every corridor. Even the Slytherin House held it, as those of mixed blood soiled our proud legacy!"

The man clenched his goblet with so much force Daphne feared the crystal would explode under his grip. His face getting redder and redder as he talked.

"I asked Slughorn time after time, 'why don't we drive those creatures away?', 'why nobody does anything about those _things_?', and he always said to me I needed to remember that even they had a legacy, even if just from one side of their family. BOLLOCKS! A MAN WHO LAID WITH A CREATURE IS NOTHING BUT A DEGENERATE AND A CURSED THING!"

His hoar frightened Astoria, who dropped her fork with a clatter on her plate. Their mother continued to eat, quiet and grey like a withered plant. Daphne observed the man rave and rant, his red and sweaty face moving as the ponytail swashed behind him like a tail. As she had predicted it, he smashed the goblet against the table, dripping wine and blood on the white cloth. He barked for the elf to clean the mess and it did silently and invisibly. Gerard pressed a handkerchief against his slashed palm. His wife didn't move to help him with the cut in his wand hand. Astoria watched with wide eyes and pressed lips.

"There is a spawn of a mudblood in your year, isn't it?" His voice was hoarse after the screaming. "Davies is her name. Are you close to her?"

 _I taught her how to kiss_ , said the venomous part of her mind. Her head shook.

"Good. I don't want Lucius to think you are soiled by their kind."

"Is the contract signed, then?" She asked. There was a minuscule pause in her mother's eating but the woman continued, eyes glued to her plate. Gerard pressed his lips.

"He will do it soon. Piers will retire from the Board of Governors and I will take his seat. After that, Lucius won't be able to stall this anymore. Our families will unite in marriage through you."

His cold gaze fell on his quiet wife. He tossed the handkerchief and roughly grabbed her wrist, forcing her to stop eating and making her raise her eyes to him.

"YOU! Be useful for something and heal me!"

"Yes, my love," she muttered, laying her fork down and taking her wand from her dress, a quick and silent movement healing the cut as if she was passing an eraser over a pencil line. Daphne watched the woman stowed her wand in her belt again before resuming eating. Gerard released her right arm and slammed his fist on the table.

"MORE WINE!"

"It's very late, I'll put Astoria to bed," Daphne said, placing the cutlery on the table. "If you excuse me, Father, Mother."

Gerard waved his knife carelessly, pouring more wine into a fresh goblet. Her mother's plate was clean but she stayed still, eyes on the table, hands folded on her lap. Silent.

"Can you tell me a story?" Astoria said, slipping under the duvet. She was only ten but the silence was already growing inside her. Soon, she would be a copy of their mother, a non-presence made to be seen, never heard. To bear heirs and watch they be moulded in the fire and ice of their father's rage and contempt.

As the silence started to take reign of her own heart, Daphne told her the tale of the Three Brothers. She couldn't extinguish the torches with her wand but as soon as she closed the door, their ever-present elf reduced the light to a slight flicker. Daphne walked through quiet corridors and rooms but couldn't leave her father's presence behind.

She opened the back door and entered the cold winter night. The breeze full of snowflakes made her shiver under her light dress, her feet freezing instantly inside her low-heeled shoes. Even in the winter, there was a faint smell of something earthy that made her remember the harvest. When she was little, in their previous lifetime, she and Astoria would play catch amidst the golden wheat, running and laughing through miles of crops and trees heavy with fruit. Her new memories held no playtime in the fields, just formal dinners and frightened nights, just a stream of filth spouting from her father's mouth as he bowed to every inbred monster he could find, offering her as a prize or a bargaining chip, trying to find someone who could raise his own status.

She could feel the ghostly hand of Lucius Malfoy sliding over her thigh muttering in her trembling ear how beautiful she was and how happy her _son_ would be to have a pretty thing as his wife.

The storm cellar had been designed to hold crops in case of an emergency like really bad weather or a bountiful harvest that couldn't fit in the silos. The latter generations of Greengrass, however, just used it to store anything useless or shameful. There was almost no light but Daphne didn't need it anyway, after so many years in Azkaban.

"How are you, Grandmother?" She asked her voice barely over a whisper. She hated that the silence could hold power over her even there, in the place her father hated the most.

"I missed you, my child," the woman in the picture answered, her beautiful eyes glinting in the moonlight streaming from the open cellar door. "But I worry every time you challenge this bad weather to come here. You can't use spells to warm yourself and you are blue!"

"I have something to warm myself," she assured, showing her the metal flask she had hid under her clothes. There was once a time when she could fit such a thing in her cleavage, or as Hermione called it, "Victoria's Secret Pocket". She never met Victoria but she had brought some very nice pieces of lingerie from her, or at least from one of her assistants. Daphne swung it back, splashing her throat with liquid fire, feeling the cold leave her bones and her skin to start sweating.

"A child," the woman in the picture lamented. "Drinking Firewhiskey. If I could go back in time, I would have beaten my daughter to death before letting her marry that monster."

"It's just a little bit," Daphne defended, walking towards the back of the cellar, moving empty boxes and dusty sheets away. "Did anyone come here since last time?"

"Who else would come down here? Not even the elf dares to clean this place," her grandmother sighed. "How is young Astoria?"

"She is growing up fast," Daphne told the pictured woman, using the ladle to swirl the liquid in the hidden cauldron. "But she still acts like a child sometimes. At first, it was infuriating but now… I think is her own kind of resistance."

The woman's eyes shone with unshed tears.

"I wish I could see her. I wish I could have seen both of you to be born and to grow up, far, far away from here."

"I'm sorry, Grandmother," Daphne said, stepping closer to the paint, lightly touching the slash that cut it diagonally and split the right side of the frame. "Just a little bit more and I'll be able to fix your canvas. Then you will be able to leave this painting. You will visit me in my bedroom and you will see Astoria and then you can tell her all those wonderful stories you have been telling me this winter."

"I fear she would hate me," the beautiful woman depicted confessed. She didn't look a day more than thirty but the picture had been painted when she was almost fifty. For a long-lived race, she had died too early. Daphne couldn't help but wonder about which hand had forced her fate. "You have a different light, my child, a maturity I've never found in anyone else. You accepted me and your heritance so easily… I don't think I'm lucky enough to see the same miracle be repeated in your sister."

"You talk as if being a Veela is a sin."

"Can you tell me it isn't when you have to come here every week for potions?"

"That's not because I'm a Veela," Daphne said, steel flashing through her voice, the first hint of true emotion she had mustered all winter. "I'll take everything back from my father, even my powers and my legacy. Astoria and I will have everything that was denied from us."

The woman smiled sadly.

"You talk about your sister but you also speak like a child sometimes. Your mother was born fully human. Her children will never be Veela."

"We are Veela, grandmother," Daphne said, placing her potion bottle inside her clothes near the Firewhiskey flask. "Our fire is sleeping but it is still there. One day, I will rekindle the flame and burn this whole place to the ground. You will see me rise above the ashes."

"I'll wait for this day," the woman answered softly, her eyes dropping, her face showing exhaustion. "This broken picture fades too quickly. Daphne, what you are doing is dangerous. Stop with the potions and quickly return to Hogwarts. My child made her choice and chained herself to this house but you and your sister still can flee. I have some money stowed away, please take it and run to France, to my sisters. They will hide you."

"You told me this already, Grandma. And I'll tell you again and again: I'm a Veela and not some rat to live underground forever. I'll take everything away from father before Astoria steps in Hogwarts. Rest well."

The cold bit her again in her way back but she refrained to drink more. The Firewhiskey couldn't take everything away, anyways. There were better things for that, stronger things.

She could hear silent crying in the bathroom, on her way to bed. A sliver of the door was left open and she used her magic senses to "see" through it. Her mother was in the bathtub, drinking from her own flask. Crying softly so she wouldn't disturb the encompassing silence of the house. Daphne wondered if she had been beaten again or held against her will or just lashed by his cutting words. Entering her cold and silent bedroom, she wondered about many things.

The mix of potions was strong, too strong for a child body. The numbness spread throughout her, taking away the doubts and the rage, dampening every sense and slowing the raging storm of her thoughts. She smiled, feeling dizzy while the sleeping and numbing potions languidly caressed her magic and her mind. She fell on her bed, the feeling of her legs disappearing completely while the room spun around her.

Relaxing for the first time in days, she slept peacefully, not minding the silence in her heart anymore.

* * *

Arthur Weasley watched his wife knit a sweater, her hands moving so fast the click of needles sounded like a perfectly maintained clock. Her eyes were glued to her work, her posture relaxed but, after so many years together, he could sense her anxiety. However, he gave her time, waiting for her to initiate that conversation again. He lowered his head, sliding his finger over the wood, spreading the glue over the surface, before carefully folding again. He placed the heavy cinder blocks over the object to make it sure it was laying flat and wiped his hands on a rag.

"Ginny's got another letter," Molly began, just like he knew she would. He raised his head and looked at her, taking his teacup. "She locked herself in her room again. Arthur, there is something wrong with her."

"Is it from the Potter boy again?"

"I think so, she didn't let me take a proper look at it. But her face was lit up by a real smile and she runs away from the table so fast it couldn't be something else."

"Are you worried about the letters?"

"No," Molly shook her head. "Well, a bit. I read some of them."

Arthur frowned.

"Did she let you read…?"

"Of course not. But she hides her important things under the floorboard, I sent her to clean the garden and read them. I know what you are going to say but, Arthur, it's an unknown boy sending our daughters letters. They just met for a moment at the platform and she already kissed him!"

"On the cheek."

"She never acted like that! When the first letter arrived, I feared the boy was trying to take advantage of her youth and innocence. Boys will be boys, you know it."

"I suppose now I do."

"Don't be like that. I read them and they were… normal, I guess? He introduced himself properly, said he heard from Ronnie that she was the youngest Weasley and that she would be all alone this year. Talked a bit about Hogwarts, classes and how fun it was to ride a broom. Other letters were just the same, they trade stories about their days and our world. He said he was raised by muggles…"

Arthur's eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Muggles? Harry Potter?"

"Yes, I thought it was strange at first but, you know, Professor Dumbledore probably had a hand at it. Maybe to make sure he wouldn't grow up spoiled and entitled like a Malfoy, or to hide him from those monsters still at large."

"Like a Malfoy," Arthur muttered. He removed the cinder blocks and applied a new layer of glue, then fold it over again. "I thought the letters were a good thing, after that night."

They didn't hear anything but the same night Ron and his brothers went to Hogwarts, Ginny destroyed her room. She started to cry just after dinner and said she wasn't feeling well, locking herself inside. Molly tried thrice to open the door and talk to the girl but the lock was too strong. Arthur convinced his wife to let their little girl be and they went to bed to a sleepless night staring at the ceiling. She talked before, about how unfair it would be to be the only one left behind. Her frustration must have boiled over in the form of a feat of accidental magic. Everything was ripped apart or slashed by an invisible blade, leaving only tatters and ruin in her room. They didn't know how to deal with it, fearing a punishment would make it worse. Arthur removed everything from her room, fixed the bed and a chest of drawers and left the rest bare as a sort of silent punishment. She hadn't complained.

"She was more quiet, at first. As if she had put a barrier between her and everything else," Molly went on, lost in her thoughts, the knitting needles forgotten. "Her eyes full of suspicious as if we had betrayed them. I tried to occupy her mind with chores and lessons but she just… did everything perfectly and went back to her room. Spelling her wall invisible just showed her laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling."

"She was just feeling alone, Molly. The house is always so full of noise and energy, even last year when it was just Ron and her."

"This is _more_ than just _loneliness_ ," his wife retorted. "You treat her like your little princess but she has changed! She doesn't smile anymore, she just… stares like a cat watching a mouse. We almost had a heart attack that night we wake up and she was watching us at the foot of the bed!"

Arthur frowned. Ginny had said she had heard a noise behind her bed and thought it was a boggart. Arthur dutifully looked under her bed and even did the _riddikulus_ spell to assure her she was safe. But he couldn't shake off that feeling of danger he had felt seeing her standing there, just watching them sleep defenselessly.

"And the way she treats her brothers! I thought the trip to Romania would make her some good, take her mind out of those things but… She looked at Charlie full of suspicious as if she had never seen him before. Just the way she looked at Percy just before they left to Hogwarts. I know she and Percy never were close but she adored Charlie before. They talked some and she enjoyed riding the baby dragon with him but she never let her guard down. And she and the twins don't see eye to eye anymore since they tried to prank her with that silly frisbee and she simply destroyed it. She keeps destroying a lot of things, now that I think about it. That dress we got from Great-Aunt Muriel was ripped by her magic when I forced her to wear it."

Arthur nodded, adding another layer of glue.

"Arthur, what if she has been possessed? Maybe something from your work?"

"I don't bring cursed objects home, Molly, you know it. And she doesn't show the signs of possession like memory loss, dizziness and obsessive behaviour. Also, I like to think my daughter wouldn't let a random unknown object possess her. Maybe it's just hormones, she is growing up after all."

" _I_ grew up as a witch and my magic never was so violent!"

"You were the older one, Molly. And your magic still gets wild when you are frustrated or in great pain like during Ron's labour. We know she is powerful, maybe even more powerful than Bill. Her magic is getting out of her grasp and that can be scary too."

"She hurt the gnomes in the garden. I asked her to degnomize it and she did something to them. They didn't come back after that and I saw blood in the grass."

"I'll make sure she won't hurt anyone again," he assured. "I'll talk to her now."

He wrapped the finished object in parchment and rose from his seat. It was a nice Sunday morning and the house was too quiet for his liking. She remembered the little girl riding his shoulders as they swan in the waterhole at the border of their property last summer and couldn't simply think she had changed so much in just a few months. He respectfully knocked on her door.

"Go away," she barked from inside, something crashing softly against the door. A pillow, he supposed. Arthur sighed but marched on. He knew the moment she was born that he would have to deal with a teenage daughter one day. He just wished for some more time to prepare himself. Opening the door he saw her laying on her bed.

"I have a present for you," he announced, showing the long packet wrapped in parchment in his hands. She looked at it and he could see the twinkle of curiosity in her eyes. However, she rolled in the bed, showing him her back.

"Don't wanna."

"Oh, it's a pity," he said, unwavering. "Because made it just for you and now I will have to destroy it as it's too dangerous to let any of your brothers to have it."

"What is that?"

 _Got her_ , he thought but forced the smile off his face.

"Let's go outside, I don't want your mother to have my head for giving you this."

She hopped on the ground. Since the boys left, her appearance had become a little more dishevelled, she was just wearing a long shirt that was once Bill's, it was so big for her petite appearance it's hem was just below her knees. Her hair, however, was silky and almost glinting, her darker shade of red carefully brushed and tied with a black ribbon. One of the letters, Molly had told him the day it arrived, complimented her hair. Since then, she had taken special care with it, using some herbs she had found in the garden mixed with her shampoo. He tried not to think too hard about it.

They wore their coats, scarves and boots and trudged in the snow until they were behind his shed. There was a new thing there, a large boulder he had moved the night before, propped against one of the trees. Moving away from it, he indicated a stake on the ground.

"Stay behind that point, yes, just like this. Now, open your present."

She ripped the parchment away, revealing a gorgeous — if he could say so — arched strip of wood, almost as tall as she was. It was made of redwood, something he had at the back of the shed for a long time, the deep red hue matching her beautiful hair and slightly flushed face from the cold.

"It's beautiful," she muttered and his heart grew in his chest in pride. "But what is this?"

"See the small silver pin in the middle? First, hold it in your left hand, by the middle. Point the arched part to the bolder, yes, like this. Now grasp the pin with your right hand. Now you need to pull it towards you, keeping your left arm stretched. When you pull it, imagine as if a line was still connecting the pin in your hand to the wood. Try it."

Ginny held her arm straight and her face scrunched in concentration. She pulled it slowly and a brief light appeared between her fingers but disappeared. Her right arm was thrown back as if something had snapped.

"Slower, try again. Touch the pin to the wood and pull it back, don't let your mind wander," he tried to hide his surprise. He would never have thought she would obtain some kind of result in her first try even if the artefact took care of most of the spell. She was more powerful than Bill and already had some control over her magic.

She pulled slower, a cord of light connecting the pin to the wood. It was bluish and cackled as if she was holding a lighting bold in her hands. Well, it wasn't so far from reality.

He could see beads of sweat growing in her forehead, her face pulled in concentration. Her left arm started to tremble.

"Touch the corner of your mouth with your thumb. When you do that, take a deep breath. Hold it. And let the pin go. Don't lower your arms until the pin is back in the wood."

Her left arm was shaking from the effort but she stretched the cord to its limit. She took a raspy breath and let the pin go. With a zapping sound, a bolt of lightning shaped like an arrow flew from the bow and grazed the bolder before disappearing in thin air.

"Wow!" She said, her eyes huge and wild. She lowered the bow carefully, her arms must have been quite sore. She turned to him, a smile tugging her lips. "Where did you find this?"

"I made it."

There was a shift in her eyes, as she watched him and then lowered her gaze to the bow in her arms. Arthur used his wand to melt the snow and sat on the now warm ground, his back to the shed.

"When I was at Hogwarts, my dream was to become an enchanter, someone who makes magical artefacts. I tinkered a lot during my free time, carving wood and bending metal, using spells to make small trinkets for me and my friends. I loved to disassemble muggle creations to study how they accomplished things without magic and how I could use their ideas with magic. I studied a lot and sent my better creations to some shops and artisans around England, even to one in France. You need a lot of money to learn enchanting, the tools are expansive and you destroy a lot of raw material when you fail. Unfortunately, none wrote me back."

"That's why you work at the Ministry?"

"Your mother supported my dream for the longest time but she insisted that I needed a plan 'B'. Of course, being a young and proud teenager, I didn't listen to her. When I graduated from Hogwarts, I was unemployed and had to deal with my dream ending. And yet, instead of saying 'I told you so', she encouraged me to find a job at the Ministry. I didn't have the qualifications, so I had to study on my own and take an exam to enter the DMLE. Her brothers lent me money so I could support myself for half a year without a job, dedicating my all to study. I passed on my first try and got a small job handling cursed objects. After a year, I already had paid them back and had enough money to buy my own place. I was surprised with a promotion and used the extra money to buy a ring. I proposed to your mother and she accepted me. Bill came along just a year after that."

Ginny twirled the bow in her hands, not raising her head.

"I know being left out of Hogwarts is frustrating and I know having so much magic is scary. But you have time, Ginny. A whole life ahead of you, you don't have to rush anything and you always will have your family and friends behind you to support you when things aren't good. Use your time to find things you like and study what you want."

He took the bow from her and moved through the steps, his lightning bolt hitting the bolder, very off-centre, and smiled at his daughter.

"Let's see if you can do better than this old man."

"How does it work?" She asked, stretching the bow with some difficulty.

"I enchanted every layer of wood and glued them into shape, that's why it won't work like a normal bow and you can't put a string on it. The wood holds the spell to gather your magic and create the bolt, you just need to feed it. It has a single hair from the tail of a unicorn inside it, so it's a little bit like a giant wand."

"Wow!" The bolt once again missed the bolder and hit a tree, leaving a burn mark. "You have unicorn hair in your shed?"

"Nah, had to ask Hagrid for one. He said your boy likes to visit him."

"He's not my boy," the bolt grazed the bolder. "We just like to talk."

"Hum, that's nice, then, move your hips a little, so you can support it better when you draw."

She smiled, just like his little girl always did. Yes, that was nice indeed.

* * *

Harry was forcibly taken from the land of the dreams by a long finger poking his forehead. A pair of huge green eyes watched him nervously, giving him a scare at their proximity. His heart pounding in his heart, Harry forced himself to keep still instead of jumping for his wand.

"Harry Potter sir, Harry Potter sir," the elf called, looking a little relieved. "You ares awake finally! The fire is calling, Blinky ares worried. The boy calls three times already!"

"A Flor call for me?" Harry deciphered, tossing away the duvet and sliding into his slippers. He barely glanced at the pile of presents at the end of the bed. The elf couldn't contain itself anymore and began pulling him by the hand.

"Yes! Yes! Blinky ares worried! The boy too anxious! Please, please, talks to him!"

He entered the empty Common Room, by the light shining through the giant glass panels, it was still very early. Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. A head floated in the middle of the fire, blushing from the heat.

"Harry!"

"Neville?"

"I'm so sorry for calling you so early — Merry Christmas by the way — but I couldn't wait anymore. I have so many ideas in my head right now, I just need someone to discuss this! I… I found some of my mother's annotations and I've been reading the book for the third time and—"

"You already read it three times?"

"It was so hard at first!" Neville exclaimed, his excitation making him sound just like Hermione. "All those difficult words and the discussions and themes and whatnot but it also made so much _sense_! I felt like even if I can't understand all of it, I can _understand_ it! And then I found my mother's old notebook and well, it just all clicked in, you know? But now there is so much to think of, so many things in my mind I feel I will explode!"

"You want to try it, don't you?" Harry smirked, sitting on the ground in front of the fireplace. Neville was gasping for breath after his rant so he could just expel one word.

"YES!"

"Then let's try it. I can find some helpers and we could write up our findings. There is a caved in passage through the boy's mirror in the Fourth Floor, there is still enough room to set up a small lab but it will limit the kind of work we can do there. There are some other rooms…"

As he pondered about places and people, resources and possible subjects, Neville looked even more excited.

"So that means we are doing it, then?" The always nervous boy asked, making Harry laugh. It was Christmas after all, he felt like he could give himself a little gift in the form of a plan being perfectly implemented.

"Yes, I think we can try a little experiment."


	7. Blood

Hermione's new bracelet vibrated slightly in her wrist, startling her from her homework. Harry sensed her eyes on him even without raising his head. They waited, holding their breaths but the fake jewellery stood still. After almost a minute, it's glow faded.

"It's the third time this week," she whispered, playing nervously with the golden band. "The door would open just once a month before Christmas, why now?"

"The Cerberus is growing restless," Harry muttered back, pretending to write down a reference for his essay. Around them, most First Years were engrossed in their reading, challenging their pile of homework before the weekend ended. "Hagrid keeps hunting wild boars in the forest, I saw they hanging behind his hut. The monster probably is annoyed after being confined to that room for so long."

"Or it could be Quirel," Hermione retorted. "Or Snape and Filch."

As the second term approached its end, the interested parties around the Stone were growing bolder. Filch and Snape would hold the fort in front of the forbidden door night after night but, even taking turns, the vigil was taking its toll on the two men. The greasy bat was sourer if that could be possible, terrorizing his students and snapping at the most minimal mistake. It had become so unbearable even the Slytherins were starting to suffer. Draco almost cried in front of the whole class when Snape called him an inept potioneer. And Filch… The man was practically surviving on Pepper-Up Potions, dragging himself through the corridors, sleeping propped against his mop.

It had been a testament of Neville's interest for their experiment that the boy didn't buckle under Snape's harassment. Instead, the little guy was almost floating in happiness most of the time, rushing through the classes and homework as a man possessed, flying to his makeshift laboratory as soon as he could and disappearing there for hours. Harry wished fervently that those signs were of success and not simply enthusiasm. By the nature of the experiment itself, he couldn't be part of it except to foot the bills.

Thinking about the folder in his book bag, he felt a smidgen of despair. His vault, the goblins unhelpfully informed him when it was almost too late, had a hard limit imposed to him by his parents before their death. Even if there were gold in the vault, he could just move a small portion of it per fiscal year. After his purchases with Hagrid, his own spending, the magical lenses for his eyes, a whopping amount of potion ingredients and the sheer amount of raw material the experiment demanded, Harry knew it would be second-hand books and no lodging the next summer if he couldn't get his hands on Remus John Lupin to be his proxy.

Putting his charms homework as a bad job, he withdrew the last letter with Neville's results. In an attempt to be discreet, they started to use school owls to exchange information. However, the pudgy boy had taken a very serious standing on the procedure of the experiment and most of his findings were vague, at best. He couldn't read Mortimer's findings for now as Hedwig delivered them directly to a post box he was paying a fortune for and would only be read after Neville gave him the green light.

"Hermione?" A blonde girl from Hufflepuff, the one with pigtails, called his study companion. "Hm, Parkinson sent me to call you."

A small note exchanged hands and Hermione's eyes widened. She carelessly started to toss her things inside her overstuffed book bag.

"I have to go now, Harry, please put the books back on the shelves for me?"

"Something happened?"

"It's," she bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. "It's a girl thing. Where are they, Hannah?"

As they disappeared, Harry felt a touch of jealousy. It was a nice thing they had started to have their own friends and take their own decisions but sure it was annoying to be the one left out! Thinking about his money problems just made him sink in a funk, his homework was a lost cause and now even his girls were plotting behind his back! He knew what he needed, a whole lifetime at his previous Hogwarts had shown him exactly what a man needs in times like this.

He grabbed Seamus' elbow as the boy passed behind him, his mental exhaustion showing on his face. The Irish boy looked at him upon the sudden contact.

"I think it's time to show Dean and Finch-Fletchley that their last win was a fluke," he announced, making his year mate smile, looking full of energy once again. "Let's find the boys and have a little match behind the fountain."

"This time, Weasley stays in the goal," Seamus negotiated as Harry swung his bookbag on his shoulder. "Better yet, if we can pick, we pick the ball instead of him."

"He was a well enough keeper last time, for a guy that had never played before," Harry countered, leaving the Library and Hermione's books behind. "What we need is to lose Macmillan to the other team. Dude can't kick the ball straight to save his own life."

* * *

"Since when she is like this?" Hermione asked as soon as she entered the bathroom, her gaze sweeping from Susan Bones to Sophie, Tracey and Pansy. She didn't even need to specify that _this_ was as she could hear the painful sound of someone retching inside one of the stalls.

"Since this morning," Pansy answered. "However, she kept insisting for us to bring you instead of going to Madam Pomfrey. It was a mess to bring her to this bathroom without anyone noticing."

"Why she doesn't allow us to call the nurse?" Hannah asked, entering the bathroom just behind Hermione. The older girl sighed.

"Because she is doing something bad and doesn't want to get in trouble for it. Daphne, open the door."

"Fuck you," came a tired and raspy voice from behind the door but she unlocked it anyway.

Hermione ignored the pungent smell of vomit and touched the blonde's forehead with her hand and then with her lips. She swashed her wand around the taller girl, prompting a myriad of colourful lights to show around them, popping away without a sound. She frowned and forcefully grabbed Daphne's chin, opening her mouth and trusting her wand inside it, probing her tongue and pulling back, a strand of sickly red light connecting the flesh to the wood.

"Firewhiskey," she muttered. While the spell just showed magical alcohol, it was easy to guess the source as Daphne always hit Ogden's bottle when stressed or too bored. The results from the other lights showed her it was not the latter.

"She is drunk?" Susan asked sound scandalized. She probably had found the Slytherins dragging the blonde to the bathroom by chance and decided to help. Pansy would never involve a Hufflepuff in that kind of matter by choice. Hermione shook her head.

"Worse. Potion poisoning."

Tracey and Pansy gasped at it and a little blush flushed Daphne's cheeks. However, she didn't have time to be embarrassed by her little secret as another wave of nausea crashed on her and she turned back to the toilet to throw up some more. Hermione closed the stall door behind her and rummaged her book bag, searching for a secret compartment that held a small wizard space full of potions and some ingredients.

"Daphne, come out after you are done," she called before turning to the other girls. "Thank you so much for taking care of her but I need to ask you to leave. I'm going to give her treatment now."

"How do you know healing magic?" Pansy inquired, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are a muggleborn First Year."

"A muggleborn First Year who had to wait a whole year to go to Hogwarts," she countered, surprising the other girls. "I was born in September and received my letter in July. I've been studying magic on my own, mainly potions, since then. I can use most of the simple diagnosing spells and I know a bit about healing."

"I trust her," Daphne said weakly, opening the door behind Hermione. "She knows what she is doing, most of the time. Give me the potion."

"No potions for you," Hermione retorted, feeling her chest swell with pride at the blonde's defence. "Chew on these."

"Ugh," the girl complained but trusted the dark purple leaves in her mouth, starting to chew. By her face, the taste was less than desirable. "Bitter."

"This will keep your stomach down for a bit," Hermione informed, looking back at the girls. "She will be fine. We are going to talk now."

One by one, the worried girls left, Pansy being the last one. The Slytherin girl stared at Hermione for a long time before turning away and exiting the bathroom. Hermione flicked her wand, sealing the door and silencing it, before turning back to her fellow time traveller.

"Why?" She asked, watching Daphne spit the rest of the leaves in the toilet and flush. "You mixed two very addictive potions together and added Firewhiskey to that. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"I'm trying to keep living," Daphne smiled sardonically. "That's the only way I know to do it."

"Daphne, I know your parents are different but—"

" _Know_?" Daphne interrupted her, arching her eyebrow, mockingly copying her tone. "You don't _know_ anything, Hermione Granger. You think you can lecture on me? You think you know anything about having a drunk rapist for a father, a broken, silent thing for a mother? You know anything about being _touched_ by the men your own father invites home, seeing only greed in his eyes as he wonders who, from those gang of thugs, will pay him more to fuck me?"

"You were—?"

"You know NOTHING," Daphne screamed. "It's funny, isn't it? Look, the eleven-year-old bemoaning about her loss of libido, what a joke, ha-ha. She was a whore in their last life and now she doesn't know what to do without a dick filling her."

"Daphne, what happened during the hols?" Hermione asked quietly, approaching the girl with a raised hand, earning to touch her, but Daphne stepped back.

"They didn't do anything if that's what you are worried about. Their eyes made me sick, their hands made me feel dirty and I threw those party clothes in the fireplace. Father knows my price is directly related to my virginity. But you know what hurt? Truly hurt, like a knife twisting in my gut? It wasn't that beast pretending to be a man or that withered thing pretending to be a woman. It was me, pretending that everything is all right, all the fucking time when I lost everything."

"Is this just about your Veela powers?" And as the words left her lips, Hermione already knew she had royally fucked it up.

" _Just_?" Daphne dug at the wound Hermione had just opened in herself. "Just my whorish Veela powers, just my little fire and my pretty wings? That's why you are crying to sleep, Daphne dear? That's why you are drowning yourself in potions until you don't feel the pain anymore, little Daphne? Just because you lost your doe eyes and round boobs? YES!"

She slammed the door so hard the wood broke from her sheer force as she trapped Hermione's head against it, between her arms. In their last life, blue fire would around be erupting from her skin but she had lost it, along with everything else. To Hermione, however, passionfire would be better than the pain that twisted in her gut when she looked at Daphne's eyes.

"Can you tell me you would be happy coming to this world as a muggle? Can you swear to me you would be just sad about losing your magic? Just annoyed to not see what you once saw, not feel what you felt, not live like you lived? You would just sit on your pretty ass and say 'well, my dear, you are not yourself and everything is wrong with the world but at least you are alive!'? NO! I CAN'T DO THAT ANYMORE! And the potions… the potions take it away, everything away. How do you think I've lived these last months? Going to class and not feeling my magic anymore but, instead of a… a parody of it. A sick joke. It's not about power, no, power is everything to you humans but our magic is different, Hermione. It connects us to the flows of nature. But now I can only scream in my head and I can't hear the answers anymore…"

Her voice diminished as she slumped forward, a golden flower withering in front of Hermione's eyes. She wanted to embrace her in a tight hug but, as soon as she moved her arms, Daphne moved away, her own arms latching around her small torso, her eyes full of tears and despair.

"Daphne, I'm here for you. We are here for you. We can talk to Harry—"

"Harry," Daphne laughed. "Harry and his plans. His games. I won't say he doesn't care about us, he showed time and time again that he does, but can you really trust him? He was Flamel's pupil, the light of the new generation. An unparalleled alchemist, they said… He was holding the Experiments at thirteen and plotting the death of his mentor just two years later. What are we for him? He loved my body and complimented my mind but what else? He has plans for us, all of us, and we just need to keep our mouths shut and don't disturb them too much. While I suffered, cried and hurt myself, where was Harry? Did my suffering fit his plan?"

"Daphne," Hermione said, approaching her, the trembling blonde still holding herself so tightly her robes were ripping from the seams in their shoulders. "Stop it, I know you are scared… and hurt. But we can solve this, together. Harry loves us, don't you see? We love each other, I love you. We will fix your body…"

"Love?" Daphne laughed, Hermione's heart froze in her chest. "Were you thinking about love when you betrayed Harry and sold us to Flamel, throwing us in Azkaban for fifteen years?"

The slap sounded like a whip in the silent, desert bathroom. Hermione was heaving as if she had just run a marathon, her hand still held high, a gun still cocked for another shot. Daphne let herself go, her left arm dropping to her side as she raised her right hand to her bruised cheek.

"You fucking sow, you know nothing about this," Hermione spat. Daphne gave her another sardonic smile. "If you hated us so much, why didn't you scape Azkaban on your own?"

Daphne reached the bathroom door before looking back.

"I trusted you and Harry to fix everything. What a surprise, I guess, that - like always - you made everything worse."

Hermione threw her book bag at her but her trembling hands screwed up her aim, the heavy leather bad crashed against a mirror, shattering it at the same time lots of expensive potions and bottled ingredients exploded inside it, destroying everything inside the bag. Daphne left without looking back.

Alone in the bathroom, Hermione fell to her knees and screamed, her throat bursting from the sheer force of her voice, her magic crackling around her. But, just as Daphne's passionfire, her own power was gone, and the only thing she could destroy with her feeble magic and weak hands was herself.

* * *

Harry had been pacing in the Common Room for hours, his eyes going from his wristwatch to the door, from the door to the watch. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should look for her. He knew he had said she could do what she wanted but he was going bonkers with the wait.

Just a little after ten, when most of the common room was empty, the lockless door swung open and Hermione stepped in. The breath he was holding was finally released in an explosion of relief as he approached the girl. However, his gut wrenched again when he properly looked at her.

Her hair was a mess, sticking to every direction, her makeup running down her face, her eyes puffy and red from crying. Her shirt was wrinkly and torn at the hem, the skirt unrolled and going down her knees. She was covered in water, ruining her mascara even more and her hands were covered in bloody cuts. She had wiped them in the shirt and the skirt as he could see stains of blood on them. Swinging on her arm was a ruined book bag, dripping strange fluids and covered in multicoloured stains.

"Hermione?" He asked, fearing she had been attacked by some Seventh Years. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Nothing," she muttered hoarsely, her throat sounding raspy and battered. She moved in the direction of the girls' staircase.

"Hermione, talk to me," he ordered, grabbing her wrist. "What happened? Why you are looking like this?"

"Is this an order, _Master_?" Her tone was sarcastic and hurt, confusing him even more. Throwing away caution in his anxiety, he nodded forcefully.

"Yes, talk to me!"

Her eyes held all the hurt in the world and a sea of anger. She forcefully pulled her arm back, escaping from his loose grip.

"Daphne and I had a _discussion_ about how your plans are going. She is _upset_ you are taking so long to get the Stone."

"Don't talk so loudly about it!"

"FUCK YOU," she roared. "We should have died in Azkaban. We deserved it. All of your plans, all those deaths and that pain… I should have known when I killed Sally-Ann Perks. To live is to suffer, only death can release us from pain."

"You don't believe in that."

"Do I? For the longest time, the only thing I believed, be it at heavens or earth, was in you. Now… I don't know what to do anymore. I'm going to sleep, don't bother waking me up tomorrow."

She let her bag slip from her arm, falling to the floor with a wet thud. Ignoring everything else, she went up the stairs, disappearing in the darkness. Harry kicked the bag to the other side of the room, almost falling in the fireplace. Feeling a rage in his heart he hadn't felt in a long time, he tossed his robes on his bed and opened the trunk, carelessly tossing on the ground the things inside.

After searching for some time, he found the silky cloth he was looking for. It was still a mystery who had sent him the Invisibility Cloak, even more as it apparently could hold its powers for decades with no decay. While he didn't need a cloak to hide his presence, he doubted he could perform such a difficult piece of magic in the state he was.

Walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, Harry let his mind wander and his feet to carry him. As some sort of obsession - well, it kind of was, after all - he visited the Forbidden Corridor and checked on the sleeping Filch and his annoying cat. After pressing his ear on the door for some time, he turned back and continued his walk, going up and down the ever moving staircases, challenging secret passages and hidden doors, the sleeping portraits his only companions.

As if following an invisible thread, after some time he arrived at a large, abandoned classroom, dust heavily covering the floor and the piled tables at the end of the room. It was dark and empty but for a large mirror at its centre.

Harry approached the huge object, easily as tall as Hagrid and maybe even as wide. The glass was encased in whiteish wood, a pattern of golden leaves circling the entire frame. There were words carved in the arch at its top, almost touching the ceiling of the classroom. Harry stepped in front of it and looked at his reflection.

"I see that you, like hundreds before you, found the delights of the Mirror of Erised," said an aged voice, softly waking Harry from his trance. The boy realized that, at some forgotten moment, the Cloak had slipped from him and pooled in the dusty ground, around his feet. He blinked, not knowing how long he had spent in front of the magical mirror.

"Professor Dumbledore? I didn't see you before."

The old wizard chuckled lightly.

"I don't need a marvellous cloak such as yours to make myself invisible. Furthermore, you would be surprised to know how nearsighted we can become when in such a state."

Harry was worried the Headmaster would immediately send him to detention but the aged wizard just laughed lightly. He couldn't help but move his gaze to the mirror again.

"What do you think the mirror does?" The Headmaster asked, approaching him. Harry found a little difficult to think when his eyes were lost in the image.

"It shows me my deepest desire."

"How did you know that?" Some surprise coloured the man's voice. Harry extended his hand to touch the cold surface of the mirror.

"Because this isn't the past and it can't be the future. It's just… a fantasy."

"You see your family?" Professor Dumbledore quietly asked and Harry nodded in silence. "Many men have wasted away in front of this mirror, entranced by what they could see in it, or been driven mad, wondering if what it shows is even possible. Alas, the mirror will give us neither truth nor knowledge. It's not good to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live."

Harry nodded again, looking at the man in purple, the old, tired version of the man he once knew.

"The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow. If you ever run across it, you will now be prepared," the man bent down a little, taking the cloak from the floor, fluttering the silky material to shake off the dust and wrapped it around Harry's shoulders, leaving just his head floating in the darkness of the room. Harry looked at the mirror for the last time.

"Professor, may I ask you a question?"

"You already did," the man chuckled. "But I'll gift you with another one."

Harry had to laugh at the man's antics.

"When you look in the mirror," he asked, his eyes glued to the enchanted glass. "Do you feel anger at the man who created it?"

Over the streaks of red, gold, brown and black pictured on the surface, Harry could see the surprised reflection of the Headmaster. And, maybe because his question was so unexpected, he was gifted with the truth.

"I do."

Harry stepped away from the mirror and the images disappeared from the glass, leaving just the reflection of two men, both saddled with silence and regret. He covered his head with the cloak.

"Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore, and thank you."

"Goodnight, Harry," the man answered, a step away from the mirror, looking at it with a face frozen in mysterious contemplation.

* * *

Harry skipped his classes the next day. It wasn't worth it, after all, as Hermione was locked in the girls' dormitory and Daphne was nowhere to be seen. At breakfast, however, he discovered most of the school already knew about their row. After munching on some toast, he left his peers behind and started to explore the Fourth Floor.

His first two attempts had been duds but the third time is the charm and he finally found an alchemy lab. Both in his former and new lives, Hogwarts had a history with alchemy. However, in the new world, it was just one of the many classes that were dropped from the curriculum. The lab was deserted and covered in dust, most of the equipment hidden behind fragile sheets. He used his wand to dispel most of the dust, vanished the stained cloth and light up the room.

It was the smallest lab from his memories and it sure was a lot emptier than he thought. At least, the kiln was at the centre of the room and the rickety cupboards still stored some glassware and, to his delight, some metal ores. There was a lot of trash in one of the tables, mostly broken equipment and failed attempts of transmutation.

 _Alchemy is the art of substance and accidents_ , Flamel's voice sounded in his head, taking him back to his second year at Hogwarts. He could almost feel the strong grip of the man's hands on his shoulders.

"There are no two equal tables," Harry recited from memory, using his whole body to push the biggest workbench out of the way. "And yet, we all recognize a table from every other object in the world. It's not in the number of the legs, the shape, position or even the material the table is made. Those are mere accidents, unable to hide the table's essence: the substance we can recognize at a glance."

 _Charms can add interesting new accidents to an object_ , Flamel recited in his ear. _Transfiguration can change all accidents from an object and hide its true nature. But only Alchemy can manipulate the substance from an object_.

He lit the fire in the kiln and tossed old parchment inside it, destroying the objects and changing their substance forever. There were carving blocks on one of the workbenches and he remembered his time playing with them, carefully changing the essence of the tree into a simple, miniature object: a chair, a table, a cutting board. The same way the muggles could manipulate the world around them until they got almost too good at it.

The most essential part of Alchemy, however, he was pleasantly surprised to find intact. The two blackboards took most of the back wall and could easily be moved with his wand to switch places, one near the ceiling and the other in his reach. In his last life, Flamel had moved the rail of the boards so the bottom one touched the floor, making it easier for a child to use it. The bottom one could be lowered only a bit, ending at the same height as Harry's waist, making it impossible for the boy to use all the space on the board. A small stool solved that problem swiftly.

Taking a piece of chalk from the box near the board, he started to write up the formula for a small Stone.

It wasn't so difficult, after all, to create a Philosopher's Stone. A novice alchemist could do it with some effort and dedication, after studying a lot about substances and their relation inside magic, how spells could manipulate accidents and how to theorize the steps to change one substance into another. A great alchemist could even optimize such things, formulating new substances that don't exist in the natural world as stepping stones to cut a little of the path. Harry himself had created a quite elegant Philosopher's Stone that only needed half the magic available in the universe and five extra dimensions to exist.

The problem, however, laid in the method. One could formulate a substance not existing in the world but the process to make it really was the hardest part of Alchemy. One could determine the steps to change a substance into another and waste their life trying to implement them in the lab. Numbers and figures were just that, abstractions. Flamel hadn't been an especially insightful alchemist in his formulaic work — others had theorized better, bigger Philosopher's Stones. However, the man could achieve something no other alchemist could: he implemented his own Stone, turning theory into a real object.

Harry's prowess as an alchemist was great. He had been hailed as the greatest alchemist after Flamel, his insightful contributions to the art published since he was fifteen. One day, he would inherit Flamel's work, as the man had become more and more busy with his Empire and could spend less time in the lab. However, Harry never achieved the level of laboratory work Flamel had. He could never break the complex transformations and transmutations and transmigrations his formulae demanded in achievable, manual tasks. The boring Flamel, so limited in his imagination on the blackboard, could make almost anything become real if given some time and enough resources.

What Harry needed, however, was a little bit of that boring efficiency instead of a truckload of theoretical talent. He didn't even contemplate the idea of trying his hand at his own Stone, he went straight to the fragment and spread his calculations to reach a very limited number of goals. His fragment would be far from the thing he could obtain from the Forbidden Corridor but it was easier to achieve. It wasn't a Stone per se, instead, just a catalyst. It was a good thing he still remembered his studies in magical beasts or else he would need to ask for a blood sample, something he really wasn't inclined to—

The chalk broke in half as he pressed it too hard against the board. A blood sample. His eyes darted around his spread calculations, reordering his ideas. Using the sleeve of his robe, he erased most of his work and began again, this time stretching the numbers and figures from a basic blood sample. Most of the difficult theoretical steps could be avoided if he began from that instead of trying to create the catalyst from magic itself. The hardest manual work would lay in the process of extraction of components and assemble the fragment for crystallization. He discarded metal and bone. Harry needed something a lot more simple to work and less prone to infection and magical warping.

Leaving the board behind, he rummaged inside the drawers and cupboards, looking for an inkling of inspiration, he didn't think he was lucky enough to find raw material. In his hurry, he bumped on the table full of failed attempts, making some fall on the ground. Carelessly stepping on them, he stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on one of the abandoned projects. Taking it from the floor, he turned the deformed object in his hands, watching in wonder as the light spread and glittered in the purplish surface, the sharpness enough to cut the light from the window in half and divide it into two different strands.

He tossed the object on the floor again, returned to the board and finished his calculations. Moving the stool to the leftmost part of the slate, he wrote a simple "shopping list".

 _Obsidian_

 _Dryad_

Clapping his hands to shake off the chalk dust, he glanced at the small window of the lab, calculating how much time he had before dusk. He would need to track down and talk to Neville, go to the greenhouse and take a knife and bottle from his potions kit. Thinking it would be better to go to the Tower and shower first, he spelled his calculations invisible on the board, snuffed the kiln and locked the door behind him. He needed to be quick if he wanted to challenge the Forest with minimal risk.

As if getting some blood from a magical creature wouldn't be risk enough.

* * *

The Forest was the most active at night. In the darkness, insects and small mammals sprung to life searching for food, while the great magical beasts would prey on them from the shadows. Unlike his peers thought, it was, in fact, safer to walk inside the Forest at night instead of under the light of the day. Most magical plants went inactive during the shadowy hours, taking away some of the danger from the trek.

The new moon made it even harder to find his way amidst the trees and tall foliage on the ground, vines, dead leaves and small plants grabbing at his ankles, small creatures crawling under the cover of green. He didn't dare to use his wand, however, as magic could be sensed way more easily than even smell for a magical beast.

In the dorms, the older years would tell the children a tale about a great wizarding city that was swallowed by the Forest, when humanity was younger and Hogwarts was just a pipe dream. The cursed trees didn't just destroy the buildings with their roots or steal the light from the wizards using their dense treetops. The legend said the roots raised from the ground and pierced every man, woman, child and beast, and the Forest itself drunk the life from their bodies, leaving only dried husks behind. However, as the Forest was cursed, those who died couldn't rest still and raised up, their husks moving against their will, roaming amidst the broken city, guarding their former home forever.

Harry didn't know if the story was true. However, under his feet, he could sense a mostly ordered trail of cut stone, a piece from a path long forgotten. He supposed the Founders could have laid it but then he needed to wonder what would be the purpose of it. At the end of the path, there was only deceit and death, why one would make such road easier to travel?

Maybe the creatures knew who laid the path, as they knew many things wizards had forgotten. He wasn't sure the knowledge would be worth the price, even as a Ravenclaw.

Fireflies buzzed around him, performing incredible manoeuvres in the air. Just a distraction but a beautiful one nonetheless. He had charmed his steps silent and dispelled his smell but had left the cloak behind. As a rare magical artefact and a family inheritance, he felt it would be better to keep it safe. And what good it would make him, to be invisible? Harry held no delusion he could steal the blood. He needed to rely on his skills as a negotiator.

Searching for the oak acorn inside his pocket, he sighed in relief when he found it. While traversing the cold stream an hour before, he had to enter the water to his tights, the bone-freezing water making it difficult even to think but he didn't dare to use magic to dry or warm himself. After a while, his slackers felt a little bit dryer already.

Crouching and tapping his wand to be sure it was easily accessible, he challenged the last few yards of the lost road, hoping the silencing charm wouldn't dispel and his squeaky wet boots would be heard. He could see light streaming through the wall of vines and foliage and heard laughter and the splash of water.

Thinking about the absolutely imbecile thing he was doing, he carefully moved some of the plants away, getting a glimpse at one of the most dangerous magical creatures on Earth.

The two teenagers frolicked in the tiny pond, naked even in the middle of the night. Steam rose from the water, so Harry supposed it was some kind of hot spring. Their skin was a glossy shade of caramel, their hair a mix of golden and dark green, falling to their ankles, small flowers and tiny butterflies weaved in the wild tresses. In a way, their hair made Harry remember Hermione. They were singing, a tune not made for a human to hear, half the notes to strange for his brain to interpret. He could feel the song inside him, however, spreading the warmth of the sun in his leaves inside him, the feel of good earth around his roots and the sweet taste of honey in his lips.

"Come closer, little boy, didn't your mama taught you it is impolite to spy on a girl?" The voice was like silk spreading over his brain, a touch so light it felt almost like a memory instead of words. Maybe it really was, he was sure she wasn't talking in English.

His body, way wiser than his befuddled mind, locked his knees in fear and didn't allow him to move even a muscle. The dryads giggled, swimming swiftly like swans on the pond and approaching him.

"Come on, don't be shy. We want to see you," the second one said, coming so close he could smell the perfume on her skin, her beautiful almond eyes the colour of the night sky, dotted with tiny golden stars. She smelled like earth after rain, like flowers that grow on the surface of a lake, like fresh-cut grass warmed by the summer sun. Her delicate hand closed around his wrist and his whole body broke in goosebumps.

"Come to play with us, little boy," she whispered in his mind and he was hard as he followed her as a puppy.

"He is so cute," the first dryad exclaimed, taking him in her arms, pressing his face in the middle of her chest, her perky breasts enveloping him. "Let's play, let's play!"

Harry was drowning in her warmth, the heat from her skin entering him like a fever. His arms were heavy, so heavy, while his head spun.

"Wait," he muttered but it was hard to determine if he really had said aloud or just in his mind. The second dryad was pressed against his back, her hands snaking under his shirt, caressing his stomach and his chest. One of their hands was sliding down his body. "Wait! I've come here to ask a favour, not to play."

"Ohh," pouted the one holding his head in the middle of her breasts, a pout so perfect that tears sprang from his eyes at the thought of displeasing her. "So serious, our new little friend. Why do something so boring when you can play with us for a bit? Just a little bit?"

His head was nodding but he worked up the courage to go against her wishes, even if his heart would be breaking because of it.

"No, I can't do it! I have to go back to the school…"

"Oh, a wizard!" The one behind him exclaimed excitedly. "I've never seen a little wizard before! Show us some magic!"

They let him go and Harry fell on his butt from sudden vertigo as they stepped away from him. He noticed they weren't wet even after swimming in the pond and wondered if the whole thing wasn't just a strange dream. He stood up, shaking hard and raised his head to see the two excited dryads dancing around him.

"Show us! Show us!" Said the first one, clapping her soft hands, a smile on her lips any man would easily give his own life away for. Concentrating, he clapped his hands and separated them slowly, sweat beading on his forehead. He conjured a small butterfly made of light, bright as a flame and golden as a Veela's hair. It fluttered its translucent wings and flew away from his hands, coming near the transfixed dryads. The second one extended a perfect finger and the little magical construct landed on it, its wings still moving.

The delight in their faces made his heart soar, they lightly touched the butterfly, full of wonder at his magic, watching the creature craw on its tiny legs on their skin, before taking flight again, almost floating away. They jumped to catch it but the construct was fast, even if the magic was already fading. It flew over the pond, its beautiful golden light reflecting on the dark water, before disappearing in thin air like a candle flame blown by a child.

They turned back to him light children high on sugar, their eyes overflowing with delight, their hands grasping him, turning him, sweeping him into a little dance around the pond.

"Do it again! Make another one!" The first ordered, her lips less than an inch away from his. The second one pulled his head before they could touch. He looked, dazed, into her starry eyes.

"Make a bigger one! A lot of them! Please, pretty please!"

"I need my wand to do it," he said, moving like in a dream, their perfume too close for his thoughts to break through the haze.

"A wand!" The dryads clapped, he couldn't help but find them too cute to bear. "I never have seen a wand!"

"Is it true you use wood to make them? And you put… icky things inside?" Her disgusted frown was the prettiest thing he'd seen in any life.

"You can use my wood to make a wand!" The first dryad said excitedly, "I'll give you my prettiest branch, do it again and you can have any you want!"

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Her offer made him remember something important. He showed the small glass bottle with the cork.

"I need something from you, I promise to—"

"Later! Later!" Booed the dryads. "First you do your magic, we talk about boring stuff later. Make a big, big one! One we can fly on its back!"

"I don't think I can make such a thing," Harry said, fetching his wand from his pocket. "Observe carefu—"

"ELLAN-TREE!" The Dryad shrieked, jumping away from Harry. "You bought an elder-stick here!"

"My wand is made of elder, yes, but why—?"

"SACRILEGE!" Roared the magical creature, grasping Harry by his throat and slamming him against a tree. "FILTHY MONSTER, YOU BROUGHT ELDER TO OUR HOME?"

Harry lost his grip on the glass bottle, letting it fall to the ground. The second Dryad, her face stormy and terrifying forcefully took his wand from his hand. She snapped it in half and tossed the pieces in the pond. Harry tried to cry or shout or do something but the grip was too strong, he was suspended from the ground by her thin and soft arm and yet it could be easily being a giant strangling him. He couldn't even move up his arms to try to break her suffocating hold on him.

"THIEF AND BETRAYER, OATH-BREAKER AND CURSED ONE!" The dryad spat on his face, her throat going raspy from her screams. Every word burned his brain inside out, spreading a pain he never knew it could exist in his body and soul. He couldn't even struggle against her, just limply hanging from her stone grip. She pulled him and slammed him back on the tree, robbing the air from his lungs and the sensation from his legs.

The second dryad sang something, less than a whisper, and the tree behind him moved. The wood shifted, waved and turned as if muscles were moving behind it, until a branch circled his chest, prompting the first dryad to let go of him. Instead of relief, however, the wood pressed him with such force he felt his ribs break under the pressure, despair freezing his blood as he noticed he couldn't inflate his chest to get air.

He tried to struggle but black dots floated in his vision. The tree seemed to open behind him, swallowing his body. A root rose from the ground, dark and brilliant like a snake against the night, thrusting in Harry's direction, pouncing on him and piercing his stomach. He couldn't scream, the pain was too great, he couldn't breathe and couldn't move.

"Die, die and suffer," intoned the dryad, he didn't know which one. She was too close to him, a tongue at least a foot in length leaving her mouth, emerald-green and sharp like a blade. She licked his cheek, eating up his sweat and his tears. "Be swallowed by the earth and become food to my roots, elder-carrier."

Her beautifully cruel face was the last thing he saw as the root dug into his body and the tree trapped him in the never-ending darkness.

* * *

AN:

Now that we ended in a cliffhanger, I've come to announce I'm taking another two-year-hiatus and... okay, please, lower the gun, ok, I'm just joking, just joking!

I don't like ending in a cliffhanger but the chapter demanded it. Hopefully, it won't happen a lot. I also don't like to write about teenage drama, so when it's valid (like migrating from your world and losing your gorgeous Veela powers) one needs to be daft not to grab the chance. Hopefully the girls will be together again soon, I hate to bully them.

Harry, as always, bit more than he could chew. I'm looking for a new protagonist for the story, as this one has become dryad-shake (high protein, low fat!). I'm thinking about... Justin Finch-Fletchley?

Finally, before I leave you all alone, I need to say something important: I've received a lot of INCREDIBLE reviews and I'm SO THANKFUL TO YOU ALL! I answer every review I get using the PM system but one of them was left as a Guest, so I can't do it. I'm going to answer you (yes, you!) here. I don't know if I can always do that, as if I'm left unchecked the AN would be longer than the chapter itself but I was so happy with your review that I couldn't just let it go. So, let's get to it:

 _I remember reading (at least twice) that three first chapters that were here gathering dust some time ago, and just being sad that this fic seemed to be one of those diamonds that were started to be polished, cut (and w/e else is done to diamonds), but never really got far in the works._

I'm so sorry for the huge delay, my schedule was a mess these last two years and I deeply apologize for abandoning this story. I promise to do my best to end it in the greatest way I can, and very soon!

Review:

 _The whole prospect of the Flamels going all Sith-like and of a Harry that became a force that likely needed half of the world piled on his shoulders before he decided not to bother and go halfway willingly to Azkaban and even than ended up more bored than bothered (and really, the girls and their "requests", beautiful in it's absurdity in a supposed Hell-on-Earth-Prison)... I admit it leaves real little to not like._

Fun-fact: this story was partly inspired by that Reptilia28's challenge of going back in time to fix messes. I loved most stories that stemmed from that challenge but I wanted to radically deviate from it. Also, I spent too much time at TV Tropes and the "darker and edgier" trope really talked directly to my heart.

 _The one thing that you do most masterfully is not giving out too much (*cough*anything*cough*) of their past-slash-old world. I mean, the only thing we kinda-sorta know is that those who could afford it got some Philosopher's Stone shards operated into their backs, which awakened dormant powers and abilities they had. It's just enough to pick at one's brain, to make you want to know more._

That's the most fun part for me! I release those tidbits very carefully so we can have two very different stories going at the same time: I find that piecing together the story of the "other world" is as fun as trying to see what the characters are plotting in this new one. But I'm not so cruel, we are approaching some big chunks of information from the other world. I already revealed a lot just this chapter!

 _I also love that none knows what is going on, but maybe have that minute feeling that something is the littlest bit off as they continue their Games not knowing that most, if not all, rules have changed._  
 _I'm not even sure if I want the Stone to end up a fake forcing Hermione to spend a slow tuesday on making one, or save them the bother swiping it from under the two Lords' noses._

As we saw this chapter, Hermione isn't an Alchemist, so no such luck here. Harry is one but he doesn't have the knowledge or the resources to make one. It's quite the quandary. Hermione's role in the previous world will be explored soon, she was, in fact, a unsworn healer. What the heck that even means? Well, I'll tell you one day.

 _What I do wonder is how exactly they went to Azkaban, when Harry seems to have had some connection with Flamel (at least I can't think of another being the Emperor)._  
 _Also, the whole healers being the most terrifying people thing? Totally appropriate._

Spoiler alert: Flamel was the Emperor. He did have a connection to the Emperor and you can find a hint of why he was sent to Azkaban in the prologue, just as the chapter ends. To me, it's clear as day.

As a person who spent a lot of time in the hospital during his life: healers, magical or not, are terrifying.

Thank you so much for your review and I hope to see you again!


	8. Promises

The ruffle of leaves and shrills of birds were the only sounds under the lone tree at the left border of the Forbidden Forest, the opposite side from Hagrid's hut. It was a quiet spot, away from prying eyes and running mouths and that's why Daphne preferred it for some leisure drowning in Firewhiskey. Unfortunately, someone had arrived before her.

"Longbottom? What in Morgana's name are you doing?"

The pudgy boy awkwardly hugging the tree slid down a few inches when he was startled by her voice. He dug his fingers in the bark of the tree, his robes tightening around his legs, his face spotted with tree sap.

"I'm… uh—" he used his left hand to grasp a lower branch and prop himself up a little bit. She heard something rip in his robes. "Climbing… the tree."

"I can see that, you moron. _Why_ are you doing it?"

"I saw a bowtruckle," he proudly informed. He reached for another branch, his leather shoes slipping dangerously on the bark.

Daphne sighed, feeling a migraine arriving. Things were way more simple in Azkaban when she just ate, slept and violently masturbated day and night, day after night.

"Is this some type of coping mechanism for you? To help with being a squib?"

"That's a mean thing to say, Greengrass," he informed her, his foot firmly planted on the branch, his hand on another, the other foot dangling in the air, a hand ruffling the leaves in the treetop. "Come on, buddy, come here, I have woodlice for you… In fact, I don't, sorry for trying to lie but I have leftover toast from breakfast…"

Daphne turned her back to the tree and walked a few steps when he called her again.

"You don't have to leave, I won't bother you. I know this is the only place you know it's safe to drink."

She almost dropped the bottle hidden in her robes.

"You _what_?"

He turned his head towards her, precariously perched in the thin branch.

"Don't worry, I don't think anyone else has noticed. I just kind of… like to observe people."

"You are a creep."

"I suppose so—" he agreed, reaching for the mass of leaves. "Come on, I know you are the—"

A flash of green sprung from the treetop, flying directly on his face, with a scream, Neville lost balance and the branch snapped, sending him in a heap to the ground.

"Oh, come on! He is escaping!" He moaned. With a sigh, Daphne pointed her wand at the little bugger. The non-human one, that is.

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," she chanted, making the bug-like creature freeze mid-jump and fall on its side, its body forcefully petrified as if it had become a statue.

Neville limped to the little beast and took it from the ground.

"Thank you, Greengrass."

She huffed, stowing away her wand.

"What are you going to do with it, after all?"

"Did you know it doesn't have an ass?"

" _What_?" Her disgust was palpable, her whole face twisting into a scowl. Those Slytherins who only knew her apathetic expression and had spread rumours about her having an icy personality would be surprised with the amount of emotion she had been showing that morning.

"Yes, I was really surprised when I read about it, too," he continued, missing the point for at least two miles. "They eat bugs, anyone knows that, but how do they eliminate it? Well, I found one of Professor Scamander's old travel diaries in the Library and he kind of thought they… well, I don't know what to call it, they kind of merge? With the tree, I mean. There must be a word for it but I don't know much about magical creatures and the like. Ah, you must be thinking why am I interested in bowtruckles? Well, I was barely awake this morning during breakfast and I thought the pumpkin juice kind of grows a little boring when you drink it every single morning, don't you think? It would be fun if they at least changed the colour every week or so, then I started to think about how funny it would be to drink a green pumpkin juice and it just dawned on me that Harry's project needs a little green on it and I remembered about bowtruckles merging with the tree and how healthy wand trees always are and, you know, what if the bowtruckle is partly responsible for it?"

Daphne pressed the heel of her hand over her eyes, her migraine exploding in bursts of white light.

"I so didn't want to know how your fucking mind works, Longbottom. Just hearing about it makes me want to take a shower."

Neville showed her a timid smile, blushing a bit.

"I'm sorry for rambling so much. People don't like Herbology too much, I was really surprised when Harry said to me it was my Herbology skills that made him realize I would fit his project fine."

"Maybe it's not Herbology, maybe people just don't like _you_."

"Yes," he shrugged, turning the bowtruckle in his hands. "There is that, too."

Daphne took the bottle from her robe pocket and swung it back, taking a large gulp of burning alcohol. She watched Neville play with the frozen beast while she rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth.

"Why didn't you tell the teachers if you know what I do here?"

"I'm not a sneak."

"And doesn't it makes you feel uncomfortable?"

"Well," he said, avoiding her eyes and a slight blush creeping on his face. "You are really smart, so you probably know that what you are doing… is not good. So, if you do it still… you must have a good reason for that."

Daphne blinked twice, the alcohol taking away some of the pain but also some of her mental agility. She watched the boy attentively, the way he was shifting awkwardly, the tremor in his hands.

"Do you like me?"

The creature flew from his hands when he jumped in fright, a full-bloom blush spreading over his cheeks, forehead, chin and going down his neck, his eyes the size of saucers.

"I— Wha— I don— I-i-i me—an—"

"Huh, what's is it?" She asked, trapping his arm in the middle of her budding breasts, her breath tasting of alcohol so close to his face, her small mouth almost touching his red ear. "I can't hear you..."

"I—i-i—" he spluttered as she used her long nail to draw a line over his chest.

"What do you think of me, Neville?" She whispered in his ear, his spine freezing in place. "Do you find me… pretty? Cute? _Sexy_?"

The boy looked an inch away from fainting, sweat flowing in rivulets from his forehead. With a short laugh, she released him and stepped away.

"I may have lost my charm but I sure still can do at least this," she laughed. "Poor Neville, I knew you would be weak against the forceful type."

He hid his blazing hot face behind his hands, bending forwards to hide his reaction.

"Thanks for the warning," he muttered but at least he didn't stutter like he did in their first Potions Class. "I don't know about liking but I… think you can be a nice friend, if you stop bullying me, that's it."

"Huh? I'm so not becoming friends with someone who don't even look at me in the face while saying it."

Neville took a deep breath and lowered his hands.

"Do you want me to be your friend, Greengrass?"

"No," she deadpanned. "You creep me out."

"Haha," Neville bitterly said. "You sure are honest. That can be a good thing, I suppose."

Daphne swung her bottle once again.

"That's the nicest thing I've heard since the fight."

He nodded, stepping away to retrieve his bowtruckle. She watched him.

"I rushed it."

Neville raised his head to look at her, her quiet words drifting in the morning breeze. She fisted her own robes, the dizziness of the Firewhiskey enveloping her mind.

"I didn't want to. I thought I could hold it inside until it was time. I couldn't. I rushed it at the worst possible time, and I hurt Hermione. I haven't known her as long as Harry does but I know which buttons to press to hurt her. I… lost something. Harry and Hermione promised me I would get it back but I don't… I rushed it."

"It's hard to wait for things we hold dear," Neville quietly said. She raised her head to look at him, releasing her hold on her robes.

"I shouldn't be talking about it. You can't know about it. I'll have to… obliviate you… now."

He simply had to extend his hand and take the wand from her. She was drunker than she thought. He gave her a shy smile.

"I can keep a secret. And, you know, sometimes is nice to have an outsider's point of view."

"I ain't telling you nothing, Longbottom."

"If that's what you wish, I respect it."

"You really are a strange one."

"My Gran says that all the time. That's why I like plants so much, you know. They are honest, you can easily understand them just by their signs. It's a lot easier than interacting with people. But, well, sometimes people are a bit like plants. While they may say something else, if you watch them carefully, you can see the signs."

"And what signs do you see in me?"

"You want to apologize to Hermione."

"I sure don't!" She barked. "She pretends to be on the high horse all the time as if she were the perfect little genius girl, so brilliant and knowledgeable that she doesn't have time for trivial things like feelings and intuitions. So _devoted_ … So insensitive… She treats me like a dumb puppy yapping at her ankles, 'not now, Daphne', 'I'm working now, Daphne', 'go play with someone else, Daphne', 'you are rushing things, Daphne'… I hate it."

"But you miss her. I could hear it in your voice. When you say you know which buttons to press… You are not saying you hold power over her. You miss Hermione because you care enough about her."

Daphne punched his arm, as he still was holding her wand out of her reach.

"Fuck you, Longbottom. What the hell are you using the bowtruckle for?"

"I want to take away some of his… blood… sap? Well, whatever," he said, following her abrupt change of subject.

"Are you going to break it? Wanna me to do it for you? I'm dying to break something."

He looked at her as if she was a monster.

"What the hell are you talking about, Greengrass? Harry lent me one of these," he showed her a muggle syringe. "I've never used one before but it looks easy enough. Hmm, could you please hold it for me?"

He passed her the frozen creature and poised the sharp needle near his back. He locked the tip of his tongue between his teeth and narrowed his eyes. After a few moments, he moved the needle away.

"Do… do you think it will _hurt_ him?"

" _Him_?"

"It kind of looks like a boy, doesn't he?"

"Morgana's tits, Longbottom, give me the needle and I show you if it hurts."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it. Just hold him still," he lowered his voice. "Sorry for this buddy."

The bowtruckle didn't react to the needle entering his back. Neville collected a full vial of a viscous green liquid. Daphne really wanted to go back and lay down for some hours or days.

"Think its better to go away before we undo the spell?" He asked, corking the vial.

"If we undo it, the thing will attack us. Throw it away and in some hours it will dispell naturally."

"What if something attacks him while he is petrified?"

"What if I shove my wand up your ass, Longbottom?"

Neville sighed, pocketing the vial and turned away from her, moving back in the direction of the castle. Daphne hiccuped.

"Longbottom?"

"Yes?"

"My wand."

"Hmm, if I give it back to you, you will attack me. Stay there and in some hours it will go back to you naturally."

"Stop trying to be funny. Give it back to me, I promise I won't attack you. Thank you. _Petrificus Totallus_."

She stepped on the frozen boy's chest.

"Now, let's play a game. Who will free itself first? The eye-gouging just-had-his-back-perforated-by-a-needle bowtruckle or little boy Longbottom? It's nice that I have a front-row seat to it."

She sat on the grass, her back propped against the tree, her wand rolling between her long fingers. Taking the bottle from her pocket, she took another sip. Both contestants straining against her spells.

"You know something? This people watching thing really is fun."

* * *

Green light rose Harry from the deep magical sleep. There was pain but it was inside his mind, a frayed feeling as if someone had opened his skull and polished his brain with a steel brush before closing it neatly again. One by one, his senses returned, first the blurry sight that not even his magical contacts could correct, then the low buzzer of the forest entered his ears as soon as they popped. There was a rough surface under him, a delicate smell of perfume in the air. He twitched, waiting for the horrible pain. Instead, he felt nothing.

He blinked a few times, quickly, trying to get his eyes back in focus. One of the dryads were looking at him from above, he finally noticed he was laying on the forest floor. She pulled a face when she saw he was awake and moved out of view. The boy couldn't move his head.

His dry lips moved but no sound came from them. He couldn't feel his chest rising. For a suffocating moment, he remembered the story about the cursed husks roaming deep in the forest.

Hands roughly grasped his shoulders and someone propped him up, his waist bending until he was more or less seated. His head lolled dumbly for a while and a soft hand pulled his hair to force him to look forward. Long legs moved in front of him, a ruffle of silk and a waft of perfume enveloping his mind.

"Raise to meet Mother, ellan-holder," a venomous voice muttered in his ear. He feared the punishment if he didn't comply but his legs didn't respond.

"Let him be, child," said a voice made of honey and thorns, the voice one would expect from the serpent of Eden. Every hair on his body stood up as goosebumps broke over his skin. For a moment, Harry wished for the dark and cold death in the tree.

She approached him as if hovering on the ground. Her feet were so small, the deep caramel skin glowing softly even in the darkness of the night. She was wearing a sheet of pure white silk wrapped on her body like a makeshift dress. For some reason, the simplicity of her garb made her more majestic than any other creature he had met in both lives. Petrol blue hair floated amidst a non-existing wind, her long fingers topped with sharp black nails caressed his skin, making the last of his thinned blood go straight south.

"Harry Potter," she tasted his name in her serpentine tongue, somehow the words sounding lewder than a sexual proposal. "Even the dwellers of the Old Forest know your name. How lucky you were I recognized it when my daughters punished you."

He tried to speak but no sound came from his mouth. However, the dryad behind him took offence and pulled his hair even strongly. He didn't feel the pain but the sudden yank startled him. She didn't have stars in her eyes, just a swirling darkness that couldn't be contained in an iris, her whole eyeballs covered by it. Harry felt as if he stared for too long, some part of him would stay inside the shadow forever.

"You were foolish to bring Elder Wood to my home," she chided and his fragile heart broke when he realized he had disappointed her. He tried to speak again but to no avail. One of the dryads brought him a large green leave filled with water. Against every better judgment, he drunk it. His life already was on their hands, what damage could it do?

"I… did… not… know…" he rasped, the taste of blood in her throat. "So—sorry."

Her sharp claws tipped his chin up, gently forcing him to look her in the eye again. Harry noticed his cheeks were wet with tears.

"I am Mother… and this is my home. You came here seeking something from us. I Saw your arrival, a long, long time ago. So long, I had forgotten about it. But even I don't know what you seek."

"Blood," he answered because it was impossible to lie to Mother. "Thirteen drops of blood… from a dryad. I… I wanted to trade…"

"Trade? And what a little wizard could trade with us? We have no need for magical trinkets, no need for your food, clothes or knowledge. What would you have worthy enough for my blood?"

"Your… blood?", he asked, he wanted to point to one of the other dryads but he couldn't move his body.

"Don't even human mothers bleed in place of their own children?"

He closed his eyes, briefly. His intention had been to offer a fragment of the Stone, forging a promise for the blood. However, he knew a mere fragment wouldn't be enough for Mother's lifeblood. He would need to rough up his ante.

"I need to move my body… something in my pocket."

One of the dryads felt around his legs, over his clothes, her smile feral at the evidence of his reaction to Mother tenting his slackers. She found the small lump and her sharp nails ripped the clothes, drawing even a little bit of blood. Mother frowned slightly at the intentional violence, the dryad ducked her head, hiding her face under her wild greenish hair. She opened her palm, showing a scrap of black clothes and a single oak acorn. There was a shift in the swirling darkness of her eyes, like a thunder of amusement slowly rolling amidst the storm.

"It makes it difficult to believe you didn't know about ellanwood when you show me something like that."

"A wand… and a wizard… are one and the same," his throat needed more water but he didn't dare to ask for some. He didn't know why he had said that but another thunder of amusement rolled inside her eyes and she smiled at him like a Sphinx before a good riddle.

"You still haven't offered me a price," she baited gently.

"A child," Harry decided. "For your blood, I offer one of my future children."

The amusement disappeared from her as the night became colder. Her face was a neutral mask of beauty.

"Foolish, truly foolish human. Gone is the time our race accepted human children in a bargain. Our Forest is too old, too deep for a human to survive here, even after drinking from our lifewater. What kind of bargain you want offering a dead child?"

"Not a… living child," Harry took a deep breath, he needed to make his intention go across very clearly. "In exchange for thirteen drops of your blood, I trade my first child. Our child."

He heard giggles around him, from many, many voices. Mother finally showed some real emotion on her face. Surprise brushed across her features but he didn't let his gaze wander. Instead, he looked her in the eye, something that annoyed the dryad holding his hair as he felt a stronger tug.

"Stupid human," the dryad behind him said derisively. "Your race can't impregnate our kind. You would be long dead before one of us could even start to feel good," her free hand slid over his clothes and roughly grasped him over his slacks. "Through this little thing… your lifeforce, blood and magic would be sucked dry. Your feeble bones would crack and break under us, your skin becoming like stretched leather over your skull. It's been some time since I last rode one of your race to his death but I still remember, the wail that split his throat as the pleasure became unspeakable… agony."

"My daughter is correct, Harry Potter. In all those springs since I've come to this Forest, no mortal could reach my Womb. You are just a wizard, your promise is empty."

"I can't do it now," he admitted. "But in three springs, my seed and my magic will be strong enough. In exchange for your blood, in three springs I'll give you my first child."

"Look at him," the dryad behind him mocked, prompting her sisters to laugh. "Son of Man indeed, learned to talk just yesterday and his first words are lies about his prowess. Mother, please let me ride him, please? I'll show him the emptiness of his words as I eat him from the inside out and bury his dry bones under my roots."

Mother, however, wasn't paying attention to her.

"He is not lying," she simply said, and the whole Forest grew dead quiet.

Harry didn't dare to tear his gaze away from her swirling darkness.

"In three springs, I'll come here to pay my due if I leave tonight with your blood."

"Give him some of our lifewater, daughter. He needs his strength."

"But, Mother—"

The darkness moved her gaze to the dryad at his side, the one he couldn't see. Without a word, caramel skin entered his field of vision as a round and perfect breast found its way to his mouth. Taking the bead of the nipple between his teeth, he gently sucked. Sweetness like honey and wild flowers touched his tongue, a trickle of her sap slid down his throat. As he drank, the feeling came back to his arms and legs, his head finally moving to have a better grasp on the source of the nectar. However, she pushed him away too soon. He licked his lips pathetically, searching for one more drop. Mother's claws bit his face as she tightened her grasp on his chin and left cheek.

"Promise me."

Harry took the oak acorn from the dryad's hand and sunk his finger on the soft soil. After widening a small hole on the ground, he dropped the acorn inside it.

"I return this seed to this soil as proof of my promise. In exchange for thirteen drops of Mother's blood, I'll return in three springs to give her my child, blood for blood, life for life."

"I accept Harry James Potter's promise and I will wait three springs for him and not a day more. In exchange for his seed in my Womb, I will trade thirteen drops of my blood, blood for blood, life for life."

Harry covered the acorn with the removed soil and his fate was tied to the ageless dryad of the Forbidden Forest.

"You know what will happen if you break your promise, don't you, little boy?" The dryad holding his hair muttered in his ear. "We will unroot the oak and suck your life from your body through it. No matter where you are, no matter what you do… We have access to your life through this little tree."

"I fully understand what I am doing," he lied easily. "I… need to go. The school will search for me if I'm not back at dawn."

"Do you want to remove the blood from my veins, Harry Potter?"

"Mother!"

"Quiet, child. We agreed on the price, not on the method. It's his decision how I pay."

"I paid for your blood, not for your suffering," Harry said. "Choose the least hurtful method."

One of the other dryads brought the small bottle he had lost during the previous confrontation, wiped clean from any dirt. Mother used one of her claws to carve a small wound on the crook of her arm. Petroleum blue blood seeped from it, flowing down her arm and quietly dripping in the bottle. When the thirteenth drop fell inside the glass, the wound healed on its own and she carefully corked the vial.

The dryad made him stand up and dizziness overtook him but Harry forced himself to not faint. Mother tied a piece of vine around the mouth of the bottle and fetched a simple necklace from it, circling his neck with her sweet perfumed arms and tying it. The bottle fell against his chest, the beautiful blood softly glowing in the dark night.

"One more thing," she said, and her fingers flickered. Harry head a splash of water and a broken twig flew from the bottom of the pond to her hand. The white, unfinished, split wand rolled on her palm.

"Mother…"

"Ellanwood, harbinger of sorrows. Such an unlucky piece of wood to have at your side. Had you not brought it to my home, you would never have to promise your child or spill your blood. However, had you not brought it to my home, you wouldn't have a bottle of my blood around your neck. In all those years, the amount of secrets I have amassed far surpasses what a wizard could even dream to know… And yet, ellanwood is still a mystery, even for my eyes."

The wand crackled and bent in her hands, sparkles shooting from the tip. The red veins in the wood burned as if turning into ambers. A single vine raised from the wood, spiralling around the entire length of the wand, the crack disappearing as the fibres mended themselves back into the way they were. Tiny leave-shaped carves blossomed from the vine. As an afterthought, Mother slid her finger over the trail of blood on her arm and let a single drop fall on the wood, the liquid leaving a mark on the white wand and spreading like a coat of stain. The reddish veins became vivid as fresh-spilt blood and the wood turned black, as dark as Mother's eyes, only the new vine carving staying white. And the wand that once was rough and unfinished became a work of art, beautiful as a dryad and deadly as Mother.

"A wand and a wizard are one and the same," Mother repeated, sliding the wand in his numbed hand. "As my mark is now in your body, so it needs to be in your wand. I allow you to bring ellanwood for a second time to my home, in three springs. Now go, for dawn is almost breaking, and my spell can't hold the pain of your body away for longer."

As if prompted by an unheard order, the dryads pushed and tugged him away from Mother, throwing him out of their home as quickly as they could. He stumbled, back at the Forbidden Forest as if waking from a dangerous dream. A numb pain started to spread through his body. He gave a last wonder filled look at his restored wand and thrust it on his back pocket. He would need to take it to Olivander's before he would fully trust it with his life. Dryads were deceitful creatures, after all.

Harry walked for almost an hour before the pain became too unbearable. His ribs were broken, his spine was probably injured and the muscles were torn. As he stumbled away from the faded road, he took the wand from his pocket and flicked a spell. Just enough to make Hermione know where he was. With a hope-filled pray for his spell not to have alerted any dangerous creature of the Forest, he fell flat on the ground and closed his eyes in sweet release.

* * *

"You shouldn't be up!" Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. "You need to go see Madam Pomfrey!"

"She would ask questions," Harry said, using a spell to check the temperature of the kiln. The wand felt different, somehow. He had asked Hermione to make him a new wand but she had set him straight about the absurd danger of using a makeshift wand and after a good chunk of information about every single wizard, witch and goblin who had lost fingers, whole limbs or even their own lives after a wand explosion, he apologized and let it go.

He had been apologizing a lot, the last few days. Hermione had been… _less than thrilled_ upon finding his battered and broken body in the Forest. As she fed him potion after potion and spelt his ribs whole again he wondered if the bitter concoctions and the rough war-zone healing spells were her way to show her displeasure. He really wanted to say she wouldn't be that petty but he had known her since she was fifteen. After confessing he had drunk lifewater from a dryad, she force-fed him a sticky yellow potion, locked him naked in a bathroom and walked away. The purging process was essential, she had assured him, but had forgotten to warn that liquids would be violently expelled from every single orifice in his body for almost six uninterrupted hours. He liked to think the process really was essential for his complete recovery.

"Questions that could save your life! I'm not a real healer, you need professional help!"

"You know more about the human body than any other person I know, you know more about dark magic than she could probably learn in a lifetime and you were just an Oath away from becoming an official healer. And, the most important of all, I _trust_ you."

"You—" she began but pressed her lips together in a fine line reminiscent of McGonagall. Exasperated, she forced him to sit on the small stool. "I know nothing about Alchemy but I'm sure you don't need to be standing to watch the fire. You need rest!"

Harry didn't argue. He had spent the whole week feeling tired and raw, headaches coming and going during the night, making it impossible to sleep. He knew he had been incredibly lucky, leaving with just a promise and a scar to the left of his hip, where the root had pierced his body. Hermione had done her best but even she couldn't fight and win a dryad's magic. The scar was the size of a fist, looking like a crack on a vase, thin lines of faint emerald irradiating from a centre point. While the skin felt normal to the touch, the scar would pulse at random hours during the day, quieting just after dusk. She theorized he was still linked to the Forest and the tree that sucked his life.

He would have to carry that bond for the rest of his life, the price of his foolishness.

"The kiln is cracking," Hermione warned but he already had felt the pressure in his magic a few minutes before. "What is happening?"

"It can't contain the power," he answered, not taking his eyes from the stone kiln. "We need to take it out and remove the impurities."

He opened the kiln and the inferno inside it instantly dried up the whole laboratory. Reaching with a spell, he took the stone crucible from inside it and poured it on a tray. Black molten lava rolled on the surface.

"I need you to hold the tray in the air as I hammer the impurities out," Harry instructed, shedding his robes and raising from the stool. The scar warned him with a sudden pinch. He raised his wand. "Keep it perfectly steady."

The tray hovered six feet in the air. He bombarded it with a spell, forcing sparks to fly but the tray stood still. He did it again, more sparks flying in every direction, deeply gouging every surface they touched. Sweat rolled from Hermione's face, he pressed his left palm over the throbbing scar.

"One last time," he breathed out and hurled a spell so dense at it the very air became solid as a hammerhead, slamming the tray and cracking it. But it held still.

The crucible floated under it and Hermione manoeuvred the tray so it tipped on one of the sides, letting the molten material return to the stone cup. As soon as the last drop fell inside, the crucible flew back into the kiln and it was sealed again.

Hermione performed a simple humidifier spell, falling to her knees.

"How many times we still have to do it?"

"We have finished. The crucible will crack in a few moments and the kiln will explode. It's better if we move out of the room."

"WHAT?"

"Come on, quickly, I'm already seeing some light coming out!"

They ran towards the door and closed it behind them, using a spell to merge it to the wall. The explosion knocked them on the floor and the door fell from its hinges with a loud thud. Harry helped a frazzled Hermione to stand up.

"This… this is madness!"

"Alchemic reactions are volatile in nature," he helpfully informed her as they entered the wrecked lab. "Caution and silencing wards are required for an alchemist to live long."

At the centre of the wreckage, nothing of the kiln remained, just scorch marks on the stone floor attesting to its previous existence. Some of the hardest firestones were embedded in the walls but the softer ones had become dust in the air, making it difficult and even dangerous to breathe.

There was a hole on the floor, just where the kiln used to be and Harry used his wand to levitate its contents. A small ball of molten rock raised in the air and he directed it towards a lead mould.

"It doesn't make sense," Hermione complained. "Obsidian isn't metal, why are you melting it and pouring in a mould? It will just shatter in contact with the air."

"The Stone isn't a real stone, it's a unique kind of magi-crystalline structure. It exists in five dimensions if you count time as one. I don't know how to make a real Stone but I've studied the Fragments for long enough. By reducing the material to this state, I'll reconstruct it in the correct formation to correspond to a fragment. It's not as difficult as it sounds, because the obsidian base is just a container for the magic not to disperse. And the lead mould helps with the outer shape. Well, it's debatable if the obsidian-like structure has an _outer_ , and even more debatable if the obsidian-like structure is even obsidian _at all_. Kind of like a Theseus' Paradox if you ask me. Now, shut up and let me concentrate. This will take hours."

Hermione once had asked him to teach her Alchemy. He started with just the basics. It led to one of their biggest rows and six weeks sleeping on the couch of their flat. It made Daphne's nocturnal visits a lot more complex and it was Ginny from all people that forced them to reconcile. Hermione went back to her Arithmancy and since then they stayed clearly inside their own field of expertise.

It wasn't as holistic as they liked but it sure reduced the number of lover spats.

* * *

While the project cooled down at the top of the astronomy tower, watched by an attentive Hedwig, Harry had a light dinner. The thick herbal paste Hermione had given him was a little smelly, even under the robes, so he had spent the week eating away from the others. With a thick book propped against the pumpkin juice jar, it wasn't an uncommon sight in the Ravenclaw table for a particularly dedicated student to be away from the others and he was glad to discover his fellow ravens left him alone.

The scar was healing, just as his energy levels returned to normal. He had carefully tested the link between him and the Forest and it wasn't active magic. Hermione, bad at that kind of thing but better than him at least, had described it like the magical bond forged between a wizard who saved the life of the other. There was a promise laying between the Forest and him, a promise different from the one to Mother. He knew he would have to return it someday, or else it would hang on his mind more heavily each year but he was certain he could leave it be for at least a decade without any problems. Daphne had been the one to ask about those subtle aspects of magic but in her current state, it would be just like rubbing salt on a wound.

Well, not for long, he hoped. They had just the right amount of time to implement the project before the quest for the Stone started. Snape and Quirrell had met at the Forest the day Hermione had saved him, just a little after dusk. They had tripped one of the wards she had set around their makeshift healing camp and the news she brought after he was more or less conscious again were clarifying, to say the least. Quirrell, as Harry supposed, was working for someone else. Snape, to his surprise, was actually protecting the Stone. If for loyalty to Dumbledore, for his own interests or just to spite Quirrell's master, he didn't know.

The important thing was that Quirrell didn't know the solution to at least two of the protections: the Cerberus and Snape's. Judging from the limp Snape sported the day after Halloween, he probably went to the Forbidden Corridor to intercept Quirrell while the school was distracted by the Troll. As he was injured and Quirrell was still teaching children, Harry thought it would be safe to assume the wound had been caused by the giant dog and it that was the case, not even Snape knew the secret to avoid the beast. Hagrid was the only one able to enter the room and come out alive, as he did it regularly to feed the monster.

In two weeks, students would go back home for the vernal equinox (or Easter, for the muggleborns) but it wasn't such a great distraction as most of the older students stayed in the castle to study for their end of the year exams. He didn't know why Quirrell hadn't moved during the winter holidays except if, just like Harry himself, he needed time to prepare a good plan and obtain more information instead of just going blind after the Stone. If Quirrell was being backed by a powerful wizard or witch, that meant they wouldn't help with the robbery. The other alternative would be that Quirrell's master was a common person, maybe a fellow thief, unable to brute force through the protections.

As the year progressed, the stalemate would deteriorate quicker but, for the moment, it was safe to assume there was time to help Daphne. And, well, it was difficult to be around the girls one at a time, as they are stubbornly ignoring each other. He knew from past experience that making one apology to the other was an infernal task. He also had some problems to sort out with Hermione. They had kind of put their last fight in the shelf while she treated him and was forced to help with the Alchemy project, but it sure had been awkward the Wednesday they had spent cleaning bathrooms as detention for skipping classes for two whole days.

"Harry?" Neville startled him from his thoughts and Harry realized dinner had already ended, his plate empty in front of him, his book untouched. Shaking his head to dispel the daze, he smiled at the pudgy boy. The Gryffindor smiled back, placing a neat stack of parchment on the table. "We did it."

Harry's heart leapt in his chest and sweat broke on his palms. He didn't dare to look at the papers.

"Are you sure?"

"We did it."

" _You_ did it, idiot!" Harry exclaimed, locking Neville's head under his armpit and rubbing his knuckles on the crown of the boy's head. "Merlin, I knew you had it in you!"

"I yield, I yield!" Neville laughed, pushing Harry away. His hair was in disarray and his face was flushed but the smile was stuck on his lips. "You didn't even read it!"

"Crap, I know the results won't change…" Harry sighed, carefully stretching his hand towards the parchment. "But with my luck…"

"I revised Montague's numbers, we are inside the error margin. It's real, Harry. We did it! Okay, okay, don't look me like that. I did it, you backed it, my mother's work helped it. Read the goddamn papers, now!"

"Language, little grasshopper," Harry admonished, starting to read Neville's tiny handwriting. "I see you copied the format from the template."

"It makes things easier to explain when laid out like this. I didn't know what to put in the Introduction, so I just wrote a summary of the process and the results. I think it's better that way, so one can quickly get to the meat of it."

"Was that a pun?"

"I'm not a Weasley Twin, Potter."

"Ooh, tables."

"They were a pain to draw. It was my first time using a ruler."

"So, in Gryffindor, the First Year boys don't hold the yearly measuring competition?"

"Measuring competition of what?"

"Wand length."

"Why would you measure the length of your wand each year? It's not as if it's going to— you are joking. Tell me you are joking!"

"You don't have to worry, Neville. I bet Weasley would be the last place."

"I— I don't… Please, shut up and read the paper, please?"

"I was first place this year."

"JUST READ THE BLOODY PAPER, POTTER."

"What are you boys doing?" Hermione asked, approaching them. Neville went from embarrassed to fully red. "Is he bullying you, Neville?"

"N-N-No," he stammered. "He-hel-hi, Hermione?"

"Good evening, Neville," she smiled and the boy's flushed face approached the boiling point. "You look happy, today."

"I-i do?" He showed a tight smile. "I do! Our project, Harry's and mine I mean, is finished. Well, not _finished_ as we need to send it to some people and oh Merlin I need to give a presentation in front to people important people I mean it's so scary I've never talked before in front of important people I mean of course I've talked before after all I'm talking to… you?"

Harry was having difficulty to not laughter escape, almost forcing the parchment inside his mouth to hold it for just a moment longer. Hermione looked confused after the torrent of words from Neville's mouth. Harry was no healer but he judged Neville was a step away from expontaneous combustion.

"Well, that's nice, Neville," she said, gently touching his shoulder. Harry was sure there was faint smoke rolling out the boy's ears. "I'm sure you will be fine. You are a very intelligent guy and a great wizard, of course you can give a nice presentation."

"Invitation. You. I invite you. To see?"

"I'll keep my schedule open for you."

As Neville seemed to have finally lost all ability to form coherent thought or speech, Harry decided to butt in.

"Do you have something for me, Hermione?"

"Yes, I've prepared a new dose of potions. Take them just before going to bed and don't perform any magic until tomorrow morning. I'm going to the library for a bit, see you tomorrow," she ducked and splashed a quick kiss on his cheek. With a small wink, she kissed Neville too.

Harry read the papers with great care, noticing some possible improvements and noting them down. Hedwig flew in just as he was ordering the parchment again and pressing it inside his forgotten book.

"Hey, girl, right in time! I have some letter for you to deliver. Do you want to wait until next morning or—" she pecked his fingers in annoyance. "Of course you don't, you are the most hardworking owl this place has ever seen. Okay, this one is for Professor Sprout, this one to Hagrid, this larger one to Augusta Longbottom — you haven't met her before, I know — and this one to Senior Accountant Manager Forkpick at Gringotts. And this last one I need you to deliver at breakfast tomorrow, to Professor Dumbledore."

"Bark!" The owl hooted, her eyes, however, were locked on the one he was finishing writing.

"This one? I'll deliver it personally. Don't look at me like that, I'm not thinking you aren't capable of delivering it, I just need to talk to Professor McGonagall when I deliver it. Here, I've saved some bacon for you!"

The owl spread her long wings and took off like a little ghost, the heavy envelopes not getting in her away. She was the most perfect owl he had ever seen. Harry rolled up the parchment to McGonagall and looked at his watch. He still had time to run to her office and request a big room for the next week, filling all the proper forms for a small gathering. Harry knew he had been using his powerful name a lot the last few months and it would become harder and harder to do so, as the press would pounce on him if he continued to throw his weight around to get what he wanted. However, for his first implemented plan to conclude beautifully, it was worth of the risk. He glanced at the boy frozen still in place, his hand on his cheek.

"So, Neville," he probed, starting the boy from his reverie. "Did you see it, last Halloween? By your face, I think you did."

"S-see what?"

"That Hermione wasn't wearing knickers that day. She does it a lot, you know."

Finally reaching his limit, Neville ran away. Laughing heartily for the first time in a long while, Harry exited the Great Hall.

* * *

When the moment finally arrived, Harry was surprised to notice he was nervous. It shouldn't be like that, there was nothing to be afraid, no plan was in jeopardy. He simply needed to give her the Pseudo-Fragment and everything would be back to normal.

However, he knew that 'normal' didn't exist anymore. Since their travel through dimensions, they had already started to change. The new world wasn't a paradise, as Hermione had called it at Diagon Alley, so many months before. It poised its own challenges, not about their magical skill and ruthlessness, like the previous one, but, instead, about their own relationships and personalities. They had found different expectations waiting for them and their underdeveloped bodies were a constant reminder of how much they depended on the Fragments their previous life.

He had put it in a small wooden box and it looked ridiculous. Before he could get rid of it, though, the door opened and Hermione and Daphne walked in.

"Are you drunk right now?" He asked. Damn, that really wasn't like last night's rehearsal. Since when he needed rehearsal to talk to his Queens? Merlin, he really was a mess.

"No, I'm not, _thank you_ ," she frowned, her voice becoming sharp at each word. He winced.

"Sorry for that, I didn't mean it that way," he muttered. "I… Well, I have something for you."

He showed her the small box and she arched an eyebrow at him. Harry felt a blush creep on his face.

"Are you proposing to me now?" She asked. "Those dryads really did a number on your brain."

"I'm not— Wait, how did you know about the dryads?"

"Hermione told me, of course."

"I thought you and Hermione weren't talking to each other."

"We aren't," she assured with a serious face. "We were talking about you."

"But this doesn't make sense!"

"Well, now that your prank has failed, I think I'm going back to my dorm to violently masturbate," she sighed, turning away from him. Hermione frowned at his unskilled attempt to talk.

Something hardened inside him. He walked and grasped her wrist. The silly box fell to the ground as he took its contents in his hand.

"I said I want to talk to you," he remembered her, steel in his voice. "We aren't finished yet."

A slight blush spread on her face, Hermione was looking restless as well. Harry had been afraid to order them around since he screwed up with Hermione that night but he was being stupid. He wasn't their Master just because the three together couldn't match his raw power, he was their Master because they fucking _loved_ it.

"Look me in the eye, Daphne," he ordered but she refused. Growing annoyed by her refusal, he roughly grabbed her chin and forced her head up, the object in his palm getting in contact with her sensitive skin and making her jolt in shock. Her icy blue eyes were round and faintly scared, her entire focus on him. "I'm greatly disappointed at you. You hid from me your suffering and the problems with your family, you covered your fear with jokes and snogs, your hate with distance. You haven't come for me when you most needed it. I'm disappointed at you."

Fat tears rolled from her angelic eyes but he hardened his heart to continue instead of embracing her like her body screamed at him to do.

"But, most of all, I'm disappointed at myself."

"What-?" She whispered, her lips perfect and moist even while she cried. How could one not see the Veela hiding inside her, when even her fear and suffering looked so _heart-wrenchingly_ beautiful?

"When we decided to split between Houses, we said you could only be a Slytherin, not caring you would be alone just after losing your very self-identity. I should have asked your opinion and even if we decided to go on split between them, I should have checked on you more. I'm your Master and even then I was easily deceived by your cheerful and joking attitude. This was a relapse on my part, that I'm correcting now. We left Azkaban and our old world behind but we carried those feelings and doubts to this new one. I should have noticed your strange behaviour and interfered before you became too… wrapped up in your pain. You are my Queen, Daphne. Both of you are. Your happiness is before any plan or move of mine. I apologize for not making it clear from day one."

She sobbed and her hands covered her porcelain face. Harry embraced her until her reding nose was planted in the middle of his chest, her head tucked under his chin, his hands tracing reassuring circles on her back. Hermione had her face marred by sadness and tears, so he just opened up his left side and she flew to it, both girls crying on him. After a few minutes, they calmed down. It was far from a closure but at least they were stepping forward.

"I have something for you," he announced, sliding the object in her hands. The Pseudo-Fragment was a little bigger than a thumbnail, cut in the shape of a teardrop, ten thousand facets cutting and reflecting the light in strange ways. It was somewhat transparent but the forms hidden in its depths weren't for the eyes of mortals. It was sharp enough to cut from a mere touch to its border and held all the colours from deep blue to faint purple in its interior. Every movement of her hand would sprinkle the stone with new colours as the surface caught and ripped apart the torchlight in its facets.

The spectacle of colours wasn't the interesting part of it, however. The jolt of pure power was making Daphne's hands tremble, her eyes wild and scared.

"Is this… a Fragment?" She asked her voice barely over a whisper. Her eyes didn't leave the Stone as if she feared it to be snatched at any moment.

"Yes and no," he answered, making his best Dumbledore impression. "It's not part of the Philosopher's Stone but it imitates its shape and power. The blood from a Dryad Mother was used to create it and pure obsidian was used to encase the power. It doesn't hold infinite magical power neither it extends your life. But it can activate your Veela genes and quickstart your transformation."

Her mouth was over his lips, her tongue tangling with his, her hands tugging his hair. He let her devour his mouth for a moment then painstakingly put some space between them.

"There are two things we need to agree on before you can have it," he said, taking the object from her hands. She nodded, ready to accept any contract with the Devil himself.

"First: in your last life, you held four Fragments in your body. One more than Hermione. While this… catalyzer isn't a real Fragment, it will burden your body the exact same way, reducing the number of real ones to just three. This is completely unacceptable. Starting today, you will have a perfect diet, exercise time and control of your magic so your body will accept four Fragments again when the time comes."

"But… then I would have… five?"

"The same as Ginny, that's right. Well, you will be less powerful than her once again, as she will have five true Fragments while you will hold… four and a half? I'll let the Arithmancy of the thing to Hermione, anyway. I warn you this isn't a light promise. If your body rejects the fourth True Fragment… I'll cut you open to remove this fake one. Do you understand the implications of what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Master."

"The second promise may be even harder, my Angel," she smiled nervously at the endearment he hadn't used since their arrival at the new world. "We will hold a Ceremony for you just after school is back, after the vernal equinox. In four weeks you will receive your Veela power back but, first, you will clean your body completely. Do you understand it? Not a drop of alcohol, not a single sip of potion, no herbs, no leaves, no fumes, no nothing. Hermione will carefully screen you before the Ceremony. If she finds a strand of impurity in your blood, heart, liver, stomach, intestine, lungs, brain, sex, skin or hair… You will be severely punished and have to wait for another four weeks. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Y-yes, Master. I promise to—" but she was interrupted when his finger touched her lips.

"There is also the matter of your punishment."

"Punishment?" She whispered.

"I want to make it very clean for you both: while I can't force you not to fight or have problems, you both know that, in this world, we can just trust each other. I also know you have your reservations with me and with each other, more so now that the Vows of Servitude are void. I can't simply order those doubts away, but I'm deeply offended you even though my plans or my research or everything else would be more important than you. While I may have to deny you something, I will never use your suffering as a weapon or a resource. If you thought like that, I'm sad to say that you know nothing about me, even after all those years."

Her eyes were full of tears again but she held them as she bowed deeply in front of him. Harry closed his eyes and rubbed them to make sure he wasn't showing an improper amount of emotion when he needed to discipline her.

"Raise your head. Do you understand now why I'm punishing you?"

"Yes, Master."

"After the initial preparations, tomorrow I will cast a Chastity Enforcer Curse on you. For four weeks, to the exact day of the Ceremony, you won't be able to masturbate or feel any kind of sexual pleasure."

"M-ma-master?"

"I wouldn't call it 'punishment' if you enjoyed it. It's the price for your distrust. Hermione, the Pseudo-Fragment doesn't need a Circle to be drawn and I want to reserve the space for the True Fragments on her back. Where could we put this one?"

"The forehead would be the first option," Hermione said, startled by the sudden inclusion in the conversation. "But if you want to be discreet it's not the best place. Between her breasts would be a nice option if she were an adult woman but her growth would be stalled by the Fragment if we implant it now. The nape is out for the same reason as the forehead, you discarded the back… The anus would be just suffering for her… How about the navel? It's completely useless so there is nothing to lose and it's a nice spot. You would need to cut it a bit to reshape as a perfect socket for the Pseudo-Fragment but it's not such a complicated procedure. While I can't attest if its true or not, Flamel used to say the navel is a good spot for a Fragment on a woman, as it's near the womb and the vagina, so the puberty quickstart is even more productive."

"Perfect. Do you need me to buy an instrument or you have everything with you?"

"Me?" Hermione looked from him to Daphne, looking scared. "I can't do the Ceremony!"

"Why?" Daphne snapped, a frown on her face. Instead of snapping back, Hermione faced her. "You performed thousands of Ceremonies!"

"Not on human beings! Merlin, that was so wrong, sorry. It was on human beings but not in important ones! Ones that needed to survive! Ones that _I_ cared about! I can't do it!"

"If I did it, Hermione, I would be only following your directions. Your responsibility would be the same. However, if you perform it and something goes wrong, you are more prepared to handle it. You were an Oath away from being a full-fledged Healer—"

"And why didn't I take that Oath, Harry? Wasn't it because you didn't want me to lose the ability to cause pain and death? Wasn't it because as an unsworn Healer I could use my vast knowledge about the human body and magic to cause the most excruciating pain in our enemies? I asked you right before— I asked you before that last time. I don't want to hold Experiments anymore. I don't want to have to main, torture, dissect and kill in a lab anymore. I… I can't do that."

"You are not holding an Experiment, Hermione," he said, embracing her. "I won't ask you to use your… skills. I'm not asking you to be the Left Hand anymore—"

"Don't call me that!"

"I'm not. You don't need to be that, here. But I need your healer skills to perform Ceremonies for us. Who else would I ask? Don't worry. There will be no lab for you in the future."

"Are you promising me this?"

"I am."

Daphne took her hand, gently, searching for her eyes. They looked at each other.

"I need you, too."

"I know, Daphne. I wouldn't take this chance from you. I'm sorry for relapsing. I'm going to perform the Ceremony on you. Tomorrow, before breakfast, I'll explain to you your new diet and the cleansing rituals you need to perform every day."

"Thank you," she said, embracing the older girl.

"There is something else," Harry interrupted. He reached for his pocket and removed a small corked vial holding a tiny piece of brilliant purple-blue crystal. It was thin as a needle and not bigger than a grain of rice. "I recovered some lost particles from the slag and made them go through the process again. It is barely active but it still holds the same catalytic powers as the bigger Pseudo-Fragment. Embed it in a sensitive part and give it a year or so and it can quickstart your sister powers as soon as she reaches her puberty."

She slammed at him with such force he almost toppled over. Daphne peppered his face with butterfly kisses, a bundle of _thank yous_ mixed between them. Harry just smiled and returned her affection. Hermione seemed to be on verge of crying again but she held it back, somehow. Rubbing her eyes on her robes sleeve, she tried to be profession again.

"I also have to know, Daphne, have you already had your menarche?"

"My what?"

Hermione frowned.

"The first menstruation, have you already started to have monthlies?"

"Oh, that," Daphne laughed. "We don't have that."

"WHAT?"

"Veela doesn't menstruate," Daphne repeated. "The first sign of puberty is passionfire and a powerful spike in our libido, not… well, I'm sorry to say that to you, but humans have some very disgusting… processes."

"Well, we can't have that. The catalyst, as Harry explained, won't be able to quickstart your Veela powers before you reach puberty. Puberty by _human standards_. Don't worry, I have a nice potion that will force your body to enter puberty. Isn't it nice? I'll be able to personally introduce you to Aunt Flo."

Hermione's smile contained every single night she laid on her bed with a heated bag on her tummy while Daphne fucked until dawn. It was a warm smile, heated by the flames of hate. Harry sighed, it would be a long journey towards a happy family once again.

* * *

AN:

Hello there! Thank you for reading the longest chapter thus far :D

It seems Justin's curriculum wasn't approved, we suddenly got our main character back! Now, before anyone asks it, let me be clear about the scar: yes, it's plot-relevant. No, it's not a Horcrux. No, it wont mess with his magic, anyone's magic, incapacitate him in any form or anything like that. For the most part, we won't even remember about it. It's a bound between him and the Forest (not the Dryads, his bound to Mother is the oak he planted) and it will be a long time before we revisit it.

Some asked about the Ellan-wood/Elder wood/Elder tree. Both Ellan and Elder are names for the same plant, Sambucus Nigra. There is some background tree lore about it on the internet, you can search for it if you want. I used it for the same reason Rowling used it to make the Elder Wand: it's a nice, mysterious tree, full of good and bad omens around it.

Now, I have some incredible news! The talented alicorn772 has created the very first fan art for The Flamel Experiments! Holy crap! I can't even say (write?) how I feel right now, so I'm just going to say: thank you so much and guys, check it out! https (semicolon slash slash) bit. ly (slash) 2BWDhky [FFNet insisted on eating up the domain, so I updated the link, sorry for that and thank you guys for pointing it out for me!

Daphne looks... *drooling*.

Next chapter: the result of Neville's experiment, more teenage drama, Harry plotting away and finally moving his pawns and... holy cow, is that a dragon?


	9. Applied Arithmancy

In their last life, Hogwarts had changed Hermione too much and too fast, her hate growing as her own powers developed. She didn't have friends there. Sometimes, that very traitorous part of her heart whispered to her a longing for that cursed world and the cursed life before she met Harry. At that time, she burned in agony but her hate numbed the pain and turned it into strength. Sometimes, the devil in her heart felt as if only Flamel truly understood her.

Harry's order to be something else had been a pain in the arse to implement and she knew she should be feeling hurt and annoyed that he forced her to act as some kind of a fashion-crazed bimbo. Her wardrobe had slowly changed to something that the sensible and down-to-earth Hermione of her past wouldn't be able to recognize. She also had to spend a godawful amount of time learning about fashion, makeup, hairdos and carefully sluttifying every single one of those aspects. It escalated up to a point when she was known among the First Year boys for not wearing knickers. She could feel their nasty eyes checking her every morning, trying to find some clue if she was "defenseless". As a matter of fact, after the row with Daphne, she had been wearing them every single day, thank you very much.

She shifted in her seat, a bell sounding somewhere and making her flush red. That had been the case until Harry finally took charge of them again the week before. Since then, she was being severely punished for the fight with Daphne, her own spat with him that same night, for ignoring him, for ignoring her, for trying to manipulate him into helping Daphne and, finally, as Harry put it, for acting like a brat instead of a Queen. Her legs were killing her but she didn't dare to move.

Since returning, she tried to be more approachable. That's how Harry ordered it. Her deep regret was that it was _working_. She had _friends_ , _acquaintances_ and even (as much as she despised it) _admirers_ among her peers. In a way, it was hard to connect with the eleven or twelve-year-olds, even if wizarding children were normally more mature than muggle ones, as they shouldered a lot of responsibility dealing with their magic. On the other hand, she was finally living the magical childhood she had missed all those years locking herself in a lab, trying desperately to please Flamel.

And, among those friends, Padma Patil and Sue Li were her constant companions during lengthy Library explorations and some girl talk. She sincerely liked them and she had some suspicion they liked her too. For a girl growing with no friends and then going through teenage years being feared by most people, the idea of having two sincere friendships was almost alien. She just wished they would disappear from the face of Earth until the end of the week so she could move a little bit.

"Hermione?" Padma called, a small frown on her pretty face. Hermione smiled at her. "I'm sorry for not asking it before… I was afraid you would get mad at me for prying but… Why aren't you speaking anymore?"

Their friendship was still in a tentative state but Hermione was a little happy the girl had finally popped the question after just five days. She took a piece of parchment and wrote her answer.

"A sore throat?" Padma asked, after reading. "Are you okay? I noticed you weren't answering questions at class this whole week and you were isolated at the table… I thought you were… tired of us."

Hermione reached over and cupped Padma's face, taking care not to bend her body forwards. She gave her most luminous smile, forcing a blush out the Indian girl.

"Sorry, I know I'm sound silly right now," the girl muttered. "But why didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Hermione wrote a little bit more.

"Ah, you did. Infection? From fumes? You know how dangerous it is to brew potions inside those tiny bedrooms! Well, at least you are getting better, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded happily.

"Do you have a sore throat too, Su?" Padma teased. The tiny Chinese girl was the timidest of all Ravenclaws. Hermione was ashamed to confess she was getting closer to the girl mostly with intention of becoming intimate enough to pinch those cute round cheeks.

"Sorry, I was finishing this letter home…" the Asian girl said with a small smile.

Hermione watched the girl clean a long brush she had been using to write the letter. Su was the only other girl in their year to use vegetal paper instead of parchment in her personal affairs and notebooks. However, her Chinese paper was thinner and more irregularly sized then muggle stationery, making it interesting. Not for the first time, Hermione wished for some free time to learn the language. She had been avoiding the topic of Padma's mother language so she wouldn't be adding yet another language to her ever-growing list of future learning projects.

"Dinner is about to start," Padma informed, glancing at her wristwatch. "Do you think I can do a quick run to the Tower to shower?"

"Go on," Su said, after exchanging a glancing with Hermione. "I'm going to the owlery and then we meet at the staircase, how about it?"

"Great, Hermione, want me to take your bag?"

Hermione nodded and reached for the book bag. A bell rung.

"What was that?" Asked Padma, looking around. "It came from you?"

Hermione shrugged, faking a look around too. She patted her robes as if searching for the source of the noise.

"I think it came from you. Stretch your arm again."

Hermione ruthlessly controlled her blush before it could show on her face and stretched her arm as if reaching for the bag again. The shift in her weight made a bell ring again.

"It's coming from you!" Padma laughed. "Maybe you sat on one of the Twins' pranks! Or was it a spell? I heard Malfoy used the leg-locking curse on Dean Thomas during the last match… Finnegan punched one of Malfoy's security trolls in the face after that, McGonagall sent them all to detention for acting like thugs!"

Sometimes, Padma let show exactly how similar she was to her gossipy twin sister. Su was quiet again, Hermione showed an uncertain smile, hoping the other topic had been dropped.

"Well, I gotta run. You better find some older student to end that spell for you, Hermione. We never know if it won't become louder after some time. That would be annoying."

Hermione waved her goodbye. Su quietly stowed away her writing utensils and rolled the letter. Hermione tightened her hold and slowly rose from the Library bench. Something moved and the bell rung again. She gave Su an apologetic smile.

"So, Hermione," the small girl began after they exited the Library. Every step made the bell ring, Hermione was going mad about it. "Why are you holding those Ben Wa balls inside you?"

Hermione's step faltered and she almost toppled forward. Su caught her before she could fall. The blush on the older girl's cheeks was radiating heat.

She shook her head vigorously, waving her arms as she tried to gesticulate some explanation.

"My mother sells this kind of thing in her store, in China."

Hermione froze in place. Her blush spread down to her neck.

"She showed me a small pair, last summer. Said it was good to exercise internal muscles. I never thought I'd find a British witch using them here."

There was not a single inch of her skin that wasn't deep red.

"You know, I admire you. You really are forward in everything. At first, I thought it even was a little bit rude… But now I know that you are just… intense about everything," the petite girl blushed beautifully. "I liked kissing Padma, that night. I don't think I like girls that way but it was fun and it made me realize… That I don't have to be so afraid because I'm far from home. You are a great friend, Hermione Granger."

Hermione hid her face behind her hands but nodded in acceptance.

"Come on, I won't tell anybody. Mother always says it's healthy for a girl to… get to know her body."

Hermione was great with mind-wiping spells. She could probably perform it on Su without damaging her brain permanently. Even without being able to say the incantation.

"But you need to spell the bells silently. Unless you like the idea of people hearing it? I know that this kind of thing exists… My aunt likes to walk around naked in her home. She has a word for it but I don't know how to say it in English…"

She could kill Su. That she was sure she could do silently. The girl got closer to her, cupping her hand around Hermione's ear to whisper a secret.

"I didn't have the courage to try it… Is it good?"

Defeated, Hermione nodded. Su blushed again. Hermione considered if a fall from the window behind them would be enough to kill herself. Then again, she didn't have her Fragments any more, of course, that feeble body would become mush upon… landing.

"Well, I have to go before Padma comes back! It's better if you wait here, I'm afraid they would fall if you tried to go up the stairs. I'll get you a catalogue from my mother's store, it's in Chinese but I can read it for you. Ah, if your purchase is not so big, I can ask her to send it with my letter from home, that way you don't have to pay extra. She has a collection of glass wands. I don't know what they are but she is very proud of it."

Hermione watched her go. That was the longest conversation she ever had with the shy Asian girl. She really was cute. The balls shifted inside her as she walked, the rattle inside them having their sound boosted by Harry's spell.

* * *

"Kneel," Harry ordered, appreciating the shiver that ran through Hermione's spine as he used the deepest voice that little body could produce. There was a satin pillow on the ground, just in front of his chair. Daphne was behind him, still as a statue, only the strain around her eyes showing the depth of her ordeal the last days. Unable to suffocate her thoughts with alcohol or potions, unable to feel sexual pleasure and release… She had been acting like the most royal bitch with her fellow Slytherins. The withering look she gave to Montague the day before probably cemented forever her fame as the Ice Princess of Slytherin. Thinking about the clingy, scalding hot Daphne only he knew it made him almost burst out laughing every time he heard her new monicker amidst the whispers in the Great Hall.

He didn't force himself not to pet Hermione's beautiful hair and slide his fingers over her fair skin. She tried to hold a smile. He caressed the line of her jaw and the curve of her ear, before taking hold of the underside of her hair. Not hard enough to hurt but with enough force to make her paralyzed in place.

"You have my permission to talk," he said. It was mostly theatrics, as he had already removed the curse on her throat but it made her fall deeper in that corner of her head that submitted her body, heart and mind to his whims.

"Thank you, Master," she answered, her eyes glazed in pain and pleasure.

"You know, this is the second time I have to punish you hard since we came to this world and we aren't here even for a year yet. Why is it like this, Hermione?"

"I-i…" she faltered, shame painting her cheeks deep red. "I'm sorry, Master."

"You lowered your defences in the Diagon Alley to the point of not realizing the Stone was just under your nose," her eyes filled with tears but she didn't turn her gaze away from his. "That mistake was grave enough to land you a punishment for the rest of your life. And yet, little more than half a year later and you are already lowering your guard once again, this time to rage against your sister and your Master."

She kept her silence but the pain in her eyes was almost enough for him.

"I made my own mistakes, handling Daphne's situation. That's why your punishment was lighter than it should, this time. But I assure you, Hermione, if you disappoint me once more… You will feel the full weight of the consequences."

She trembled and almost whined but held her silence and her gaze. Tears streaks marred her gorgeous face and he wanted to have her more than everything in the world. But a Master was about control, a King was about power. He reigned himself.

"Remove the balls."

There was a copper bucket full of soapy water beside her. They had done that punishment before, so she knew what to do. It didn't make it any easier. Hermione rose from the floor and moved over the bucket, one leg at each side. She wasn't wearing knickers, as ordered. Gripping her short skirt, she raised it delicately, showing her bare mound to them. Blushing slightly, she bent her knees, half squatting over the bucket. With a small grunt, the first Ben Wa ball splashed inside the bucket. She contorted, finding it difficult to force the second one out. Harry observed with a cold, inexpressive gaze. Daphne whimpered behind him.

The second ball popped out after a few more seconds and she let the skirt fall down, bending to wash the balls and bring them to him for inspection.

Harry removed a box from his pocket and opened it.

"Kiss the tool and give thanks for the punishment."

She kissed each clean ball before returning them to the box, thanking him for the agony she had to go through during the week. He could see in the slump of her shoulders she was feeling better already, the guilt seeping out of her as the punishment cleansed her soul.

"Now, how many times did you let the balls fall?"

She hesitated.

"S-six times, Master."

"Six times." He repeated, his tone unwavering, making her flinch. "Six times, even after I generously allowed you to remove them before going to sleep."

"I'M SORRY, MASTER," she cried, covering her face with her hands, her mind fully enveloped by the haze of their power play. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Enough." Harry gestured to Daphne, who produced a plate covered by a cloth.

Internally, he sighed. Hermione had always been the most difficult to punish in their scenes. Daphne was so easy, just forbid her from finding sexual release and she would bend backwards to correct her behaviour, spank her Veela ass and she would quickly fall from her high horse and beg for forgiveness. Ginny didn't mind sexual frustration and in fact, enjoyed pain a whole lot but she was weak against bondage and constriction. Hermione, however, had a deep submissive streak, happily getting off on pain, constriction, shame and frustration. In their last life, she was a person of power, a fortress of cold control and precise ruthlessness. Letting go of everything and being wickedly used by him was the most pleasurable experience of her life.

To punish Hermione, he needed to delve deep into her mind, forcing her to produce the most shameful acts, mostly in public. Ordering her to risk the careful image of power she had constructed around herself was the ultimate punishment for her. Even in their new world, where she was just a slutty brilliant muggleborn, she would rather die than reveal the depth of her wickedness. But using that kind of punishment was exhausting and quite difficult to achieve. Thankfully, he had a backup plan for when he needed a kind of pain even her wouldn't enjoy.

"You hesitated," he informed, making her flinch harder. "And you failed your punishment six times. Why?"

"I… I'm weak, Master. I'm so sorry, so sorry, Master…"

"Daphne, bring dinner to us."

Daphne advanced until she stood just in front of Hermione but not blocking the brunette's view of their Master. She removed the cloth from the plate, making Hermione whimper loudly.

"Are you defying your punishment, little whore?"

"No, no, Master!"

Harry reached for the plate.

"These are your most hated peppers. I remembered a night in Paris you cried yourself to sleep after eating just one of these, just because you didn't want to offend the French Diplomat. Your lips swelled and your face became red as a beet, beautiful unshed tears filling your eyes. You were in so much pain you couldn't even suck me off under the table, that night. Do you remember, Hermione?"

"I r-remember… Master."

"I want to see that face again. And I hope the pain will teach you not to fail your master never again."

"H-h-how m-many?"

"I don't understand your question, slut."

"How many do I have to eat, Master? The w-w-whole… plate?"

"Would you like to eat the whole plate, slut?"

"No, Master. But I will eat it if it pleases you."

"Of course you would," Harry smiled, petting her hair for such a cute response. "But I'm not an unkind Master, am I?"

"No, Master."

"Seven then. One for each time you dropped the balls. One extra for hesitating. You may start now."

With a trembling hand, she took one of the peppers from the plate. Daphne looked sympathetic and excited at the same time. Harry returned to his seat. Hermione stuffed the whole pepper in her mouth.

Her strangled cries were delightful.

* * *

"I thought I was the only one to come here when I need to think," Penelope Clearwater commented, her slim body sliding through the gap between the shelves with ease. The space formed by three heavy bookshelves was roughly the size of a big closet, the half-light seeping from the cracks in the wood and the gaps between the wooden shelves giving the space a cosy feeling.

Hermione raised her head, wondering for how long she had been there. Her butt was hurting a bit from sitting on the stone floor. She was bracing her knees against her chest, her mind miles from her body, reminiscing about Daphne's rejection of her proposal. She couldn't understand why the girl didn't accept her idea of an Oath of Servitude. In their last life, they would trick each other into accepting shameful oaths, and the dark thrill of finally owning one of their sisters — mind, body and soul — would be enough to make one of them cum. Harry was rough with them every time they won a small Oath, so they never dared to force a big one from one another.

At first, Hermione had thought Daphne was wary of accepting the proposal because of Harry. But that wasn't the case. She could see it in the blonde's sad eyes.

"I'm… leaving now," Hermione said, trying to get up, but Penelope gestured for her to stop. The older girl slid beside her.

"This is a nice place, I found it during my second year," she commented.

"I found it… some time ago," Hermione said, trying not to lie. She'd always found difficult to lie, it simply wasn't one of her skills. "Do you want to be alone? I really don't mind, Penelope."

"Penny, please," the girl smiled. "You don't have to leave. It's nice to have some company. Normally I come here when I want to think… But thinking alone can lead to some dark thoughts, you know."

Hermione watched the Prefect's face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, startling the older girl.

"You are really perceptive for an 11-year-old."

"I'm twelve. Thirteen in September. Is it about Percy? I mean… sorry, I don't want to pry…"

"Well, it is. I normally come here when I'm heartbroken and I think that's why you are here too."

"You are really perceptive for a 15-year-old."

Penny laughed.

"Sixteen. Maybe girls who are born after the cut-off are more mature, hm?" She nudged Hermione with her shoulder, making the younger girl laugh a little. "Yes, this is about Percy. We fought again. What about you?"

"I…" Hermione hesitated. On one hand, she really didn't want to talk about it with anyone, even more with a girl more than twenty years younger. On the other hand, she still thought of herself as a twenty-year-old and five years weren't so much of a difference. It would be nice to have someone a little bit more mature for a change. Before she could conclude her assessment, her traitorous tongue assumed control. "What is love, anyway?"

"Oh-oh," Penny said, startled. "Directly to the heavy stuff?"

"Sorry, I've… having those dark thoughts."

"Caught Harry with another girl?"

"What? Of course not! I— that's not it. I was just… well, I never understood love, anyways. Thought I knew about it but… Well, I don't talk about it but someone left me when they discovered I was a witch and… Since then…"

As words faltered her for the first time in her life, Penny slid her arm over her small shoulders.

"I understand. I don't have a father too."

"You…?"

"Well, maybe it's better than your situation, after all. I mean, I never had one. Mom never talked about what happened but I think it's about me. We live with my grandma, her mother. Since before I was born," Penny shrugged. "Oh, I know where he is, most of the time. We both live in Cambridge, after all. When I was small… he would call, sometimes. Mostly when my mother forced him to. Full of promises, that one… never fulfilled any of them. It skewed my notion of love, too, you know? In school, they always said parents love their kids more than anyone in the world, so… you can't help asking it… why mine doesn't? Really screws up with your head, doesn't it?"

"I'm so sorry, Penny."

"I'm not." The girl returned, her voice strong and clear. "When the letter came… Professor McGonagall said wizards have to hide from society. I thought for a single, mad instant that my father was a wizard. It made all the sense in the world to me. Mom tried hard to make me give up on that idea… But I simply had too much free time before going to Hogwarts. I called him in secret. She was working, my grandma was visiting a friend… I sneaked from school and called him from a pay phone in the street. He answered and I said… 'hi daddy, it's Penny. Daddy, I was accepted at Hogwarts!'"

The silence stretched between them.

"He said, 'that's great, poppet. Look, daddy is really busy right now but how about meeting next weekend… or the next one? Daddy will take you to a fancy restaurant and a film after?'".

"Penny, I—"

"I didn't cry," her voice was like crystal, her eyes beautiful and shining. "I realized that moment he wasn't worth a single tear. I didn't know what love was… but that moment made me understand what love _isn't_."

"I didn't want to make you remember that."

"I don't mind, Hermione. When I became a witch, a muggleborn witch, things were difficult. Even in Ravenclaw. But I found a place in this castle. Things I am good at. _Magical_ things. The Prefect position… Even the interest of a pureblood wizard. It made me realize we can't leave our past behind but we don't need to be defined by it."

"It's our choices, that define what we are," Hermione muttered. Penny glanced at her, Hermione offered a wry smile. "Someone told me that once."

"A wise person," Penny nodded, shifting her legs to a more comfortable position. "So, what about love?"

"I have no idea," Hermione answered, picking a stray lint from the ground. "I had… a relationship, before Hogwarts. Don't look at me like that, we already established we are all mature girls here. I thought I knew something about love. But things… are different. You know, isn't love strange? Every emotion we can define so clearly, we always know what sadness is, or lust, or rage… Why love is still so mysterious?"

"That's why you are wondering about what love is?"

"It's a bit ridiculous, I know it. But… well, I've always thought love was… devotion. That pure devotion that consumes us. That's the kind of love that wouldn't make fathers leave their daughters alone, I think. Or let relationships break apart when things change."

"Devotion…" Penny rolled the word on her tongue. "Maybe. But devotion is single-minded, isn't it? How can you be entirely devoted to two people? You would just fall apart… wouldn't you?"

"You would doubt yourself every step of the way," Hermione answered, her eyes looking at a faraway past that would never be. "But hide it. Would feel your heart be torn and… in the end, betray one for the other… and lose both."

Penny touched Hermione's hair, softly.

"I have a very limited experience but I think love is to be vulnerable. To open yourself to the other, completely. Maybe that's why it's so painful, sometimes, so incredible, most of the time. Maybe that's why it scares us so much."

Hermione was silent for a long time. Penny dutifully accompanied her.

"So," the younger girl started, rubbing her nose on her sleeve. "Do you want me to curse Percy's balls off?"

* * *

Neville was shifting from side to side, crumpling his loaned necktie. With a ruff, Hermione grabbed him by his shoulders, making him stood ram-rod still as if she had used the petrifying curse on him.

"Breath," she ordered him. The boy produced a shaky rasp but it was something, at least. "You need to focus, Neville. Focusing will calm you. You know what you are going to talk about, don't you? Whatever it is, Harry was quite tight-lipped about it…"

"I know. But… B-but… What if they don't _listen_?"

"Then talk to Harry, he will be there with you. If even him won't listen, talk to the walls. Most importantly, talk to yourself. If you can convince _yourself_ you are saying something worthy, people will listen."

He breathed out, slowly.

"Thank you, Hermione."

"They have arrived," Harry said, exuding tranquillity. Neville became a little greener just by looking at his calm confidence. "Ready?"

"No."

"That's the spirit. Remember, Neville, the thing is just behind the blackboard. You don't _need_ to use the blackboard, okay, only use it if you are comfortable. There is chalk on your desk, we sure don't need to use magic when we are… distracted, okay? Call Twibble when it's time, leave the handouts to me and… well, nothing else. You can do it. You were perfect last rehearsal."

"I knocked down the blackboard and killed the sample with a burst of accidental magic."

"And now you know exactly what _not_ to do during your presentation," Harry offered, clapping his shoulder with nauseating enthusiasm. "Go now, they are waiting."

"How about a bathroom break, first?" Neville asked but Harry shook his stupid head. "Really, I really need to go…"

He was marched inside the small conference room like a prisoner to the gallows. There was a round table, occupying almost half of the room. Neville recognized the huge form of Rubens Hagrid, the gamekeeper. At his side, there was Headmaster Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling merrily. At the other side, Professor Sprout looked a little confused as if not really sure what they were doing there. She was flanked by his Grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, Dowager Longbottom, her face twisted in a frown, her eyes piercing him as if trying to extract secrets directly from his brain. That probably meant Harry had lied when he said he was going to tell her everything in advance. At Professor Dumbledore's side, sat a long-nosed goblin Neville had seen just a few times before, Senior Accountant Manager Forkpick, the goblin responsible for their Longbottom Vaults and accounts.

"Good evening, madams, gentlemen," Harry began, smoothly entering the room and closing the door so Neville couldn't escape. "Thank you for coming on such a short notice. And thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for lending us this room."

Dumbledore tipped his head, a smile on his face.

"Now, before Neville Longbottom can begin his short presentation, I want to say some introductory words. I know you only took notice of our invitation because my name was signed at the bottom. My fame in the wizarding world was a huge surprise for me as I was raised in the muggle world, away from the danger from my quite numerous enemies, but also away from my heritage as a wizard."

Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore looked grave, Professor Sprout was watching Harry with a sombre look on her face, Forkpick didn't show any emotion Neville could recognize and his Grandmother was serious, her eyes coming back to look at him and then returning to Harry.

"Upon returning to the magical world, I tried hard to learn the most about our society, traditions and government," Harry continued, and his words earned him an approving look from his Grandmother. Neville stilled himself because he knew Harry was finishing. If he did it right, maybe his Grandmother would shower _him_ with that look. Maybe he would finally make his family proud of him. Just maybe. But it still was better than no chance at all. "However, some of the things I discovered were difficult to comprehend. I asked my friends, colleges and professors about some of the peculiar traits in wizarding society. Some answers made a lot of sense… Others… showed me opportunities to improve. During one of my conversations with Neville Longbottom, we found an interesting bit about wizarding life… And how we could add some fresh perspectives on it. Neville, please."

"Hm…" Neville faltered. His Grandmother's eyes were upon him again. Heavy, like being pinned under the full weight of their mansion and grounds, every generation of Longbottoms piled on his shoulders. He blushed heavily, he felt his chest constrict, he heard Draco Malfoy laugh at him. A spark of magic flew wildly between his fingers. Harry discreetly attacked his ribs with an elbow. "T-Thank you for coming. I'm Neville Longbottom, from the Longbottom Family."

That was a profound deviation from their rehearsal. Neville was standing in front of the open spot in the table, his back to the blackboard. There was a small wooden box there, the chalk. Maybe he could write something on the blackboard, but what? He felt afraid of knocking it again. The goblin discreetly consulted his pocket watch. Harry was pulling a chair so he could sit. Something red was on it. Neville moved before he could think. His fingers enveloped the object, finding the familiar weight to be soothing, the smoothness to be calming.

"This is a common tomato, the kind you can find on the table of every single wizard and witch on this country," he said, purely out in improvisation. His own voice was calming his nerves. He felt… like a boy dividing an interesting finding with his friends, just like doing homework together in the Library, searching for funny trivia to beef up their essays. "We, accustomed to rich tables and hearty meals find very little interest in the history or precedence of such a common, uninteresting, raw fruit. However, this small tomato holds secrets even our best scholars can't crack, and it defines our culture more than any government or law could.

"Food can't be created with magic. Even after thousands of years moulding our magic, researching it, developing it, we are still slaves to the soil when it comes to producing food. Soil, however, is growing sparser in our world. After the Statute of Secrecy, the size of our available lands has shortened. Not only our human lands but the lands holding the entire magical population of our world. After dividing it with our allies from other magical races, our magical plans whose properties we use in our potions, our own living spaces… The amount of soil dedicated to growing food is crazy small, not only limiting the quantity of food we can produce but also how much our own population can grow."

Professor Dumbledore looked interested! The aged wizard had propped his elbows on the table, his hands hovering in front of his mouth, his huge hat perched on the back of the chair. Neville tried not to stare at the man, instead, he stared at the tomato.

"For some time, muggles were the answer. Our gold can easily buy out their silos. Even if that dependence would leave a bad taste in the mouth of some, even if it risked the Statue we invested so much energy to hold… But muggles have changed, and our fragile trade quickly broke off. Muggles have their own challenges when growing food… And they resolved some with poison. A poison that kills pests and keeps crops untouched… But a poison our population can't handle. The metallic taste in their food can't be hidden under any sauce or spice. Each year, muggleborns arrive at Hogwarts thinner and gaunter, starving in their own homes not by the cruelty of their fathers but simply because we can taste in our tongues the price muggles pay for fresh food. However, the utter despair of our situation is still largely ignored by most of our society. We, on the brink of starvation, hold no answers to that challenge and we have tried very little to change that.

"Most of the work done around growing crops in small spaces was done by the late Richardson Greengrass. He dedicated his life to the improvement of his own farmlands. But he obtained very little practical success. He was one of the pioneers on the use of dragon excrement as fertilizer, the discovery that cemented the Greengrass family as the main producers of vegetables and fruit in wizarding Britain. He also was the man that determined it's impossible to grow crops in wizardspace. But most of his time was wasted on useless research that leads him nowhere.

"As Mr Greengrass soon discovered, magical research is quite difficult. The will and hopes of the researcher interfere with the subject of the experiment, as Paracelsus determined. Spells work in the hands of their creators but explode when another learns it. Potions cure diseases in the experimental phase but become mud when produced in large scale. A healing procedure cures one believer but does nothing to the others. To make spell creation and potion making more robust and diminish the influence of the researcher's will — as it can't be fully eliminated — we created Arithmancy. Our numbers lie a little bit less, after all. But for things that can't be measured and abstracted in numbers and figures, there is no option. Mr Greengrass produced a lot of good crops in small spaces but they quickly deteriorated as soon as he left the project alone. Without guidance, he couldn't determine what was a real step forward and what was just his wishful thinking."

Neville took a glass of water that appeared on the table and drowned a large gulp. Ignoring the people around the table, he placed the tomato on the table and took a chalk from the box.

"Many of our scholars pondered about that question. They wrote at length about magical research, through centuries. However, that work is still dispersed and under a huge number of names, as magical philosophy, magical methodology and even complicated names in Greek, Latin or Aramaic. But one work appeared in the Hogwarts' Library, an essay from some long past anonymous researcher. It was discovered by Mr Potter as a manuscript and turned into a simple book. It comments and explains the works around the idea of practical magical research. Under the tentative title of _Principles of Applied Arithmancy_ , this work can help even a First Year to make some simple experiments in a more reliable way.

"The Double Vault Methodology helped me propose an experiment to test crops growth in small spaces. In fact, it's an idea from one of my mother's scrolls. Alice Longbottom was one of the many interested in Herbology to research a solution for efficient farming. She also was stumped by the difficulty of proving her idea. Using the Double Vault, we could finally test it. The full process is written in the report Harry is passing around now, but to put it in simple terms, two exactly equal experiments were run by different people at the same time. One by myself, the other by a third-party I had no knowledge about. By following careful instructions, the third-party tested the theory without knowing what exactly they were doing or even the purpose of the whole thing. Their reports were sealed, just like mine. A mediator carried a restricted amount of information between the two "vaults", keeping the experiments separated."

Neville placed the chalk on the table, after finishing drawing two crude vaults on the blackboard.

"After the experiment ended, a fourth member was called to compare the reports and produce a first draft of a combined report. As I said, the whole process is presented in detail in the roll you have received. By using this series of steps or, as the book calls it, this _methodology_ , our ideas were tested in a reliable way. As you can imagine, that method involved a lot of money and resources, and it couldn't have happened without Mr Potter's investment. He was also the mediator in the process. Another person was fundamental, and that was Mr Hagrid. I will explain it in a bit."

"Alice Longbottom's idea for growing crops in short spaces was to inject the soil with preparations of something she called nutrients. By using an extraction process in the dragon excrement similar to the one we do when analyzing poisons, we can obtain some components. By separating them and testing them one by one, we have found the necessary components to make a crop grow healthy, the nutrients necessary in the soil. Those same nutrients are consumed by the plant during its growth and that's why it's necessary to rotate crops so the soil can recover those elements. By adding them to the soil, we could avoid the rotation. We also extracted some more nutrients from wood, decomposing fruit and some magical beasts, there is a full table on the last part of the scroll. By doing that, we could use potions to accelerate the growth rate of our crops, producing shorter and shorter harvests and still maintaining the plants healthy, something Mr Greengrass was unable to achieve."

Professor Dumbledore was reading the scroll! Forkpick was sitting like a stone. Professor Sprout was reading it too. He didn't dare to look at his Grandmother, Hagrid was beaming, Harry was… playing with a quill. Well, at least someone was taking it easy. Neville was soaked in sweat but he was on a roll now, and nothing could stop him before he finished his piece.

"Our first experiment was with lettuce and cabbage, yielding great results. However, even with the fast harvest and continuous use of the same soil, the crops still occupied a lot of space. When we moved to tomatoes, a problem occurred: using the method for fast harvests, the plants died after picking the fruits. Not only that would be wasteful but the necessity to replant from scratch every harvest made the system too difficult to maintain. The breakthrough, however, came when I decided to use bowtruckle's blood in the mixture of nutrients. Professor Scamander theorized a lot about those little creatures in one of his journals and he was proved correct when the blood made the unhealthiness of the plant disappear. However, a new problem arose: the blood is thick and it doesn't bond well with the soil. That's when I thought… Well, let's get rid of the soil altogether."

Neville used his sleeve to erase the blackboard. He took the chalk again.

"A simple instrument was theorized. A pipe would carry the nutrients and potions and blood like a stream. Through holes on the surface of the pipe, the roots would be inserted on the liquid. Water dilutes the mixture and makes it flow better. Clay pellets inside a slotted cup hold the plant in place while allowing the liquid to flow around the roots or the seed. Instead of using a long pipe, we developed a design similar to a ladder, where the plants are stacked. Not only this allows for great space-management but the system is terribly simple to maintain. Spells make the water continuously flow through. The prototype was created by Mr Hagrid and, like everything in this experiment, two exact copies were supplied, one to each vault. After some great results, we expanded to four 'ladders'. They are kept underground, simple lightstones giving light to the plants and faking a day-night cycle in sync with the growth potions. Let me show you."

Maybe Harry had hoped for some fanfare or some great reveal but Neville liked to keep things simple. He moved the blackboard away, rolling it on its small wheels, revealing a copper "ladder" loaded with crops. It was 8 feet in height and 6 in width, attached to a large slab of wood to keep it upright. There were copper faucets installed at the end of the "legs" and a bucket behind it. Neville took the bucket and place it below one of the faucets before turning it open. He let a pressurized stream of liquid flow out before closing it tight.

"This is the mixture for this system," he showed them the bucket, a brownish-green liquid slushing inside. "In the experiments, we had better results with single-crop systems, that is, planting a single type of crop per 'ladder'. I have planted a lot of different species in this one just for showing the options. Each crop has its parameters, that is, the proportion of each nutrient, potion and the day-night cycle. When you fine-tune a system, a 'ladder', to a single set of parameters, the results are exponential."

"Neville," Professor Sprout interrupted, the first one to talk since he started. In her excitement, she even forgot to call him by his family name. "May I look at it?"

"Of course, please, come closer. Here, feel those leaves… Pinch it around here…"

As the Herbology Professor owed and awed, Forkpick decided it was already questioning time and motioned with his hand to get attention.

"You said you used a day-night cycle to these plants… Mr Longbottom, how long does a crop need to grow like these?"

"It depends on the type of crop," Neville answered. The goblin nodded, a little impatient. "For a mixed system like that, I planted them around lunchtime… So, six hours give or take some. For something like cabbage, three and half hours are enough to achieve full maturity."

A crack sounded in the suddenly silent room. Every eye went to the goblin. He nonchalantly hid the broken metal quill that was in his hand.

"Sorry," Forkpick coughed. "Mr Longbottom… let's go straight to the point. How much?"

"I'm not selling this idea, Senior Accountant Manager Forkpick," Neville said. Ire flashed in the goblin's eyes. "We called this meeting to show our results. They are in the scroll on your hands, the parameters for each system we have tried. If you follow these instructions, you will have the exact same system I am showing you. Oh, speaking about that… Er, Twibble, please?"

With a pop, some of the crops disappeared from the system, leaving just the pots with pebbles behind.

"I want the whole wizarding world to have access to this knowledge," Neville continued, "I, and probably my mother, will be happy if every Herbology-minded wizard and witch start to experiment on their own Vaults, creating more and more systems and increasing our crop options. This can not only be a great experiment to learn Applied Arithmancy but also a possible source of income for wizarding families who have some extra space in their houses. That's why we — Harry and I, I mean —, wished to demonstrate this to Professor Dumbledore. Professor, if it's possible and the Board of Governors are alright with it… Could you help us to publish this work?"

"It would be an honour, Mr. Longbottom," the aged wizard answered, his eyes almost glowing. "However… unlike Transfiguration Today and The Potioneer Periodical, there are no publications focused on Herbology in Great Britain."

"Ah…" Neville said, feeling his heart fall down to his boots. Harry had said something similar but he had hoped…

"We will have to send it to Beauxbatons."

"E-excuse me?"

"The Libraries at Hogwarts and Beauxbatons are connected by an old bond of friendship and mutual growth. I'm afraid in the last few decades this link has been terribly silent… Your work will be a breath of fresh air between us. The fact it's a First Year publishing such an astounding work will incense our friends from beyond the Channel. I dare to think they will find it a challenge to send us better works… It will take some time, of course, to rekindle the flame of curiosity in their midst. And, after that… We will need to retaliate, of course."

"I don't think I understood…?" Neville muttered to Harry, who shrugged.

"I'm sorry, I derailed from your question, Mr Longbottom. For now, I will read your work carefully. I also want to read that marvellous homemade book you cited. After that, Madam Pince will translate your research into French, German and Russian and we will send it to our allied schools. They will spread the knowledge very quickly in their own countries. Not wishing to be left behind, our government will do the same. I'm afraid you will need to gift us with another presentation soon… In the wizengamot. I'll arrange the details."

"Wiz—" Neville rasped but Harry slapped his back.

"That's great, Neville! I knew you could do it! Now you can present it alone, of course."

"Alo—"

Neville was interrupted again, by the appearance of plates in the table. Colourful salads were displayed with finesse and care. Neville cleared his throat, shoving the panic for a future day.

"These are the crops produced this afternoon in that very system. Hogwarts' kitchen has prepared them for a tasting… Well, uh, please help yourselves."

Professor Sprout finally left the system and approached the table. Forkpick stabbed a shred of cabbage with his personal knife and frowned at it as if deep in thought.

"Neville, do you think we can grow magical plants on these?" Professor Sprout asked, after tasting a slice of tomato. Neville played with a lettuce leave.

"I don't know, Professor. As this experiment was done with non-magical plants, even a First Year like me could handle it. But magical plants should have very, very difficult parameters and would need larger systems for their roots… Researching it would need a lot of money, space and people."

"A goal worth fighting the Board for," Professor Sprout retorted, facing the Headmaster, who was spearing a cherry tomato on his fork. The aged wizard winked at her.

"We will have a very interesting summer. It's a pity Minerva couldn't come today. She would be preparing a new budget proposal already."

"Do you have copies of that book, Mr Longbottom?" The short Professor asked her face deep in concentration. "Well, a single one would be enough, I would make copies for all the Seventh Years myself. No, we would need the new greenhouse first. Or two? To make to Vaults… Oh dear, we probably won't have enough time to make those old ornaments cough up the money and build them before next term! Maybe a divided greenhouse? Neville, who was the third-party you mentioned?"

"Ian Mortimer, Professor… Hmm, he didn't know what exactly he was doing, that was the intention, after all, so he just followed the instructions… Harry paid him something for it."

"Mr Longbottom," the goblin called, after forcing out a promise from Hagrid to give him the blueprints for the system with all the measures and spells. "Would you accept a part-time consulting job on Gringotts this summer as we implement a system in one of our caves? It will be paid, of course."

"I would be honoured, Senior Accountant Manager Forkpick… But, before building your own large-scale underground farm… Wouldn't you be interested in buying some of our products? From Longbottom Greenery?"

"Longbottom… Greenery?"

The surprise wasn't just in Forkpick's voice but also in his Grandmother's. Neville shrugged.

"It doesn't exist yet but I was thinking about making a small system in my bedroom to produce some spices… But after seeing this reaction I started to think… Wouldn't be better to simply use our free space on our grounds to build a large-scale system and sell our own crops?"

"After your idea spread, every wizard and witch would be your business rival, Mr Longbottom. The price of vegetables and fruit will plummet as the market will be invaded by small-scale harvests. If you can produce something akin to hay to feed cattle…"

"Soy and corn would be possible alternatives as feed."

The goblin frowned.

"Mr Longbottom, do you want to work at Gringotts after graduating?"

"I…" Neville wildly looked around. "I have no idea, I'm just eleven."

"We can write a simple magical contract, just to… direct your options for the future."

"Let's start with a contract with the Longbottom Greenery to supply Gringotts with fresh fruits and vegetables, how about it, Senior Accountant Manager Forkpick?" Augusta Longbottom cut in, her voice smooth like butter and crackling with power.

Neville looked to her, finally finding her eyes. What he found wasn't approval. It was something deeper, fiercer.

"I still have to ask why would we formalize a contract with a still-fictional business if we can buy from other producers or even grow our own."

"Because my grandson will have funds to continue to research his crops. If there is someone who can grow magical plants in… a ladder… it's him. And when that happens, Gringotts would already have a good business relationship with him. And, please, Forkpick, we both know a well-fed and motivated goblin can produce much more in your mines than growing crops. With a solid supply of food, your people would be free to expand in numbers and finally move beyond Europe."

The goblin showed her a smile that was all teeth and very little happiness.

"Augusta, I had said it many times, already… But if you were born goblin, I would have proposed to you."

"I would have refused," his Grandma replied, prim and proper as always. "I wouldn't want to be part of a goblin's harem."

Forkpick laughed. It was a terrifying sight.

"I wouldn't want to leave my other wives with you either. How about a meeting on Monday?"

"Make it Tuesday, I already have an appointment with Mr Hagrid on Monday."

"You do?" Hagrid asked, befuddled.

"Of course, Mr Hagrid. I'm paying you to show my staff how to build, maintain and operate those systems you invented."

"Oh…" Hagrid nodded, looking confused. "You hav' staff?"

"No, but it's Friday still. I have two days to obtain one. It will be good to have some more people in the mansion… It's grown too quiet now that Neville is in school. Mr Potter, I hope you have some free time during the summer. I will pay for your investment back and also… well, I want to talk to you about some personal business. Your mother and our Alice were good friends, I still have some of her things in my house. They are yours, of course. Please come some time for a chat and some tea."

"I… Thank you, Madam Longbottom," Harry said, looking floored. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Sprout were quietly discussing near the system, poking around the faucets. Neville couldn't rank what was stranger: his Grandma acting nicely to his friend of his Grandma _flirting_ with a goblin.

Said goblin was raiding the salad buffet.

"Neville."

He raised his head. Her eyes were just like his father's. The same pair of eyes that looked back at him in the mirror. She grasped his shoulder with her ring-covered fingers but it was gentle instead of the unrelenting guiding he was used to.

"I always compared you to your father," she said quietly and Neville was acutely aware how everybody was too occupied to hear them. "Losing him like that… Along with your mother… Was the saddest day of my life. Even worse than losing my husband, even worse than losing my own parents. He was the strongest boy I had ever seen and yet… He fell that night. I feared you would, one day, be taken from me too. I know your childhood wasn't good. I know we never treated you like you should. I thought… that you needed to be forged… Made stronger… So you would have a fighting chance. So you would have more chance than your parents had. Seeing you here, talking about this incredible thing I don't even understand fully, with so much enthusiasm… Your eyes were sparkling…

"I've always thought you needed to copy your father to be strong like him. But you found your own path to strength. I'm sorry for trying to force you into something you are not. And… thank you, for inviting me here, for sharing _this_ with me, even after all that."

Neville circled his Gram with his arms. There was a time when he couldn't do that, he was too short. Now it was easy. How strange was that.

"One day we will have every single magical plant in the world planted in our garden," he muttered against her chest. "Then we will call lots and lots of potion masters and they will cure my parents."

Silently, she finally hugged him back.

* * *

AN: Hello there, welcome back! It was my wish to post everything before September arrived because my uncle is suffering from cancer and this month is my paid leave from work, it was my intention to help my family by taking care of him for a few weeks. Unfortunately, I couldn't finish the posting in August and had to stop posting for about 3 weeks. Now I'm back at work, both in the "real" world and here! Now there are only 4 more chapters to go + a intermission. After that, I'm thinking about taking the plunge and start posting the Second Year right away. Maybe?

Something I think I need to address after this chapter: why is Neville's work so important? One word: worldbuilding. Harry is shaping their world to fit better to his plans. Maybe it was a little bit disappointing for some to know, after all this time, that Neville was growing crops in a closet. I assure you this will have far-reaching consequences in their society. More about that in the next chapter.

Finally, next chapter there will finally be dragons. Stay tuned.


	10. Thieves

As the owls left the Great Hall after delivering their packages and letters, Hermione's frown became more pronounced. Harry struggled not to laugh out loud. From his seat, he could see Neville almost ducking under the Gryffindor table in embarrassment as soon as the newspapers were opened by hundreds of students and their Professors.

" _The Green Revolution Begins!_ " Hermione read aloud, her voice chilling the warm air around them. Spring was in full swing but not inside her heart, it seemed. As she opened the paper, the huge photograph of Neville in front of the Wizengamot almost hit Harry's nose. The black-and-white boy was slowly moving towards the edge of the image, trying hard to make himself the least noticeable as possible as he escaped. " _Visionary 11-year-old boy breaks the invisible shackles of our society… incredible presentation to a full Wizengamot… youngest Longbottom reshapes our markets… the public demands an Order of Merlin…_ "

" _A genius hidden among the First Years_ …" Padma continued, skimming around the text just Hermione had done. "Well, he truly was _hidden_ , I don't think I've exchanged more than a couple of words with him since the year began… Who could know it?"

"Harry," Hermione slammed the paper down, looking at him with fierce eyes. "Harry knew it. Harry did it. _You_ knew _it_ and didn't tell me anything! There was a _historical fact_ happening five feet away from me and I _missed_ it."

"Hermione…"

"Don't _Hermione_ me! A wizard discovers aquaponics by himself at eleven in front of me and I learn about it from the _paper_ ," she was hissing, sparkles dancing around her fingers. Padma wisely moved the plates away from them. Harry was almost bursting in laughter. To his dismay, a small giggle escaped from his lips.

She pressed her eyes until they became small slits in her face. Harry jumped from his seat, his fork clacking to the ground.

"Herm—," he tried but she sent another jolt of electricity to his knee, her fingers wrapped around his bone like a vice. "Her—"

"Hermione, you are hurting him," Padma pleaded, scared.

"That's my intention," Hermione retorted, making Harry jump higher. "You damn wanker, you make history without me again and I fucking murder you in your sleep."

"Hermione!" Padma gasped. Harry forcibly removed her hand from his knee and got another zap in return but he held her hand tight.

"Mine, I'm sorry," he spat out, his hands still spasming. "Neville had no idea about the repercussions of his work, you would see them instantaneously and he would feel even more pressured. And I asked Dumbledore for you to go."

"You better never pull this shit on me again, Potter," she snarled, a little more placated. Dumbledore had been against even Harry going with Neville, so Hermione had no chance from the beginning. She also knew herself enough to know she wouldn't be able to keep such an incredible secret to herself.

"I promise you the next historical event not only will be known to you beforehand but you will be the one spearheading it."

"I don't want to _be_ a historical event, I want to _witness_ it," she complained, Padma and Su nodding along with her. Harry could fake being a Ravenclaw but he sure couldn't think like one. Shaking his head at their oddities, he took a spoon to his now cold cereal and milk.

"There is something I don't understand…" Padma said, fidgeting with the Daily Prophet. "Neville said to my sister you were a vital part of the project but your name isn't shown in the news or in the interviews."

"I invested in the project but I can't say I really helped Neville with it," Harry confessed. "As I was the middleman between both Vaults, if I knew what he was doing the full experiment would be compromised. I just poured money where he needed it."

"So you got nothing in return?"

"Is this off-record, Miss Patil?"

The girl laughed.

"I promise not to say a word to my editor, Mr Potter."

"Augusta Longbottom wrote a contract with me so every single knut I invested will be returned with interest. She also pays me a cut from Longbottom Greenery as if I were a silent partner. Of course, I can't touch that money directly until I am an adult. Dumbledore will publish a revised, expanded and formatted version of _Principles of Applied Arithmancy_ this summer and I'm receiving a cut from the sales too… But money, while good, it's just money. There are more valuable things to gain from this."

"Like friendship, gratitude and a sense of accomplishment?"

"I was thinking along the lines of you-own-me-a-favour-now and direct influence over one of the leading wizards from our generation for the rest of our lives but yes, that can be good too."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You are hanging with the Ice Princess of Slytherin too much, Potter," Corner said, trying not to laugh at Padma's scandalized expression. "Oh, you talk about her and here comes the devil."

"Demoness, please, Corner," Daphne rebuked, placing her hand on Hermione's shoulder with ease. "I think we had an appointment before classes?"

"Yes, I'm done," Hermione answered, folding her napkin and placing it on the table. "Harry?"

"Yes," he answered, pocketing the unopened letters Hedwig had brought him that morning. "Let's go. I see you guys at class, don't let Snape bully you too much!"

"It's _Professor Snape_ ," Padma corrected but Harry just offered her a condescending smile before leaving with his girls. By chance, they ran on Neville as they exited the Great Hall.

"Neville, a minute!" Hermione asked, approaching him. Harry saw the boy's face become red almost instantly. He really needed to grow out from his crush.

"H-Hermione?"

"Congratulations! I heard your interview on the Wireless yesterday, you were great!"

"Really? I-I mean, thank you. It was a bit scary."

"I can imagine… Say, is it true about the Order of Merlin?"

"Well… My gran is taking care of it… I mean… The Order can only be gifted to adult wizards, I can't have one as I am a minor… The Wizengamot was talking about opening an exception for me but I really don't mind it. I think it's still too early for me… I want to first be able to grow magical plants in controlled environments, that's something I think it's worth such an honour."

Hermione hugged him, making the boy jump as if shocked.

"Don't ever change, Neville."

"I-i-i w-wont. Huh, H-hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to… I mean, are you interested in… I don't know, Professor Sprout is trying to convince the Board of Governors to finance a series of experiments with Double Vaults and she said she wants me to head one of them…"

"That's great! Congratulations again, Neville! You deserve it."

"Th-thanks. What I want to say is… if this happens… Would you want to… r-research with m-m-me?"

Hermione hugged him again.

"Thank you so much for the opportunity, Neville, but I have to decline. I'm not good with that kind of experiment, I very much prefer to play around just with numbers. But, who knows, maybe in the future we will be able to publish a joint paper? I read _Principles of Applied Arithmancy_ and there is some shortage of Arithmancy in the whole thing, I think future papers would need serious calculations to back their findings instead of just the Double Vault method…"

"Ah— Uh— Okay, then. I— I'm going then. History with the Slytherins. I'm heading there now."

"Longbottom, wait."

Neville went from deep red to deadly pale with just two words from Daphne's mouth. Harry had noticed the boy had been avoiding the Slytherin girl since their first presentation. Daphne glided near the shaking Gryffindor and placed her small hand on his shoulder.

"My father wants to murder you."

Harry could bet Neville would start foaming from the mouth at any instant.

"He said to me you single-handedly destroyed the Greengrass Family hold on vegetables and fruits. He already had to make harsh concessions to some of his oldest clients to keep their contracts… dozens of minor clients stopped buying from him as they are now buying _Small-Scale System Kits_ from Longbottom Greenery and producing their own vegetables in their workplaces. The price of lettuce, cabbage, beans, tomatoes, peas, cauliflower, broccoli, mint, basil and every single leafy spice is already dropping so low it's not worth producing in our farm. Three metric tonnes of cabbage had to be sold for a tenth of the regular price or else they would rot in our storage silo. We are barely holding the market for grains, potatoes, carrots and onions but even those are unstable as twenty-five _Small-Scale System Kits_ are sold per day with a waiting list of almost four hundred units. By the summer, every wizarding family will be trying to plant and farm in their own houses in the hopes of striking gold and discovering the best way to produce some speciality item. As they have no idea how to use the Double Vault method, most will fail… But with almost a thousand units in the market, someone is bound to find the proper procedure and take another corner of our sellings. If you hadn't published your research already, he would have contracted someone to kill you. As that won't resolve our problems, he doesn't want to expend money on your head but if he ever meets you personally, by chance or design, he will murder you with his own hands if necessary."

It was good she was still holding him by the shoulders as Neville's legs were buckling under him.

"As his oldest daughter, I am the only person he trusts who have access to you. He instructed me to get closer to you by any means necessary, even if I have to fuck my way into the Gryffindor Tower. I was carefully instructed to become friends with Harry Potter and any other person of interest that can help me spy on you and your work. If necessary, I can even become the girlfriend of any boy or girl in this castle. My marriage contract was put on hold for another three years and I was forbidden to come back home during the Equinox and Yule holidays. Do you know what that means?"

There was no voice inside the boy to answer. He shook his head.

"That means I owe you one, Longbottom," she purred, before landing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for getting me more time and having an excuse not to be around my father."

She stepped back, letting Neville fall on his butt. Whipping her blonde hair behind her, Daphne walked towards the dungeons, her small hips swinging alluringly. Stifling another laughing fit, Harry followed her while Hermione threw pitiful glances behind them.

They selected a random locked classroom for the inspection. With a wave from her wand, Daphne cleared the floor and the desk from dust and grime, before easily slipping out of her clothes and hopping on the desk. She spread her legs shamelessly, giving Hermione an incensing gaze. While they kissed heatedly, Harry did his best to focus on the jewel embedded in the girl's body.

As Daphne stayed in the castle during the Easter Holidays, Harry had been less lonely. Hermione had returned home for two weeks, making it a perfect opportunity for them to explore their intimacy alone. However, as Daphne was still forbidden from finding sexual pleasure, their little holiday was filled with conversation, verbal teasing and — in the blonde's case — preparation to receive her pseudo-Fragment. Upon returning, Hermione had found the girl almost climbing the walls in sexual frustration but also healthy, strong and, surprisingly, a little more well-read.

The process was a lot easier than with a real Fragment. Nonetheless, Hermione's skill had shown itself as she carefully reshaped Daphne's body to receive the little jewel. As magical aid could hinder the process in unexpected ways, Daphne was given a small amount of common muggle anaesthesia, pilfered from Hermione's parents. She had been awake during the entire procedure but the area around her navel was numb to the pain of Hermione's knife and spells.

Daphne didn't have a navel anymore, just the teardrop-shaped stone encrusted in her perfect white skin where a bellybutton should be. The jewel captured the light as she moved, tongue-battling Hermione, splitting the rays in glimpses of purple, mauve and deep blue. Hermione's hand moved over the jewel in their trajectory to the girl's centre, blocking Harry's view.

"Did you use your allure on Neville?" Hermione asked, forcing herself inside the blonde, robbing a gasp from her puffy lips.

"N-noo," Daphne moaned, Hermione's smaller fingers hadn't lost their incredible ability to drive her up the wall in pleasure.

"Do you want him as your pet?" Hermione wickedly asked.

While they had sworn loyalty to each other, they had mutually agreed on getting some pets if they wanted. But only if all four of them were okay with the pet and no real feelings were developed. Also, if they needed to discard the pet in a permanent way, the one who brought him or she would be the one to do the job. Hermione, however, never had been interested in pets for herself. Daphne had found a cute girl once but Ginny broke her too soon and they had to discard her. Ginny had two male pets before but she wasn't interested in having sex with them, instead, she toyed with both for some time before discarding them. Harry had brought Susan Bones to their bed once but she had tried to kill Hermione and so they had to end her. While they had not talked about pets in their new world — where it wouldn't be so practical to find and dispose of them —, he let it go as he could see Hermione was just winding Daphne up.

"I don't wanna," Daphne refused, sounding almost like a kid under her sister's ministrations. "Faster, faster!"

"Beg me more," Hermione taunted, moving even slower. "Show us how the princess of Slytherin is just a Veela whore deep down… How their prim and proper blonde goddess loves to be treated like trash by a Mudblood."

"NO, NO!"

Harry took Hermione's hand, making Daphne wail in need. Both girls turned to him, returning from the depths of their daze.

He slowly lifted Hermione's hand to his mouth and licked her fingers.

"You taste like Veela again."

Hermione and Harry were startled when Daphne slumped on the table, her moan loud enough to scare them. Her whole body shook in light spasms while her eyes were closed tight. Harry removed Hermione's finger from his mouth.

"Did she…?"

"She orgasmed from being called a Veela," Hermione confirmed, wonder on her voice. "Holy shit."

They watched as Daphne enjoyed the aftershocks of her orgasm for a bit before returning their assault. Hermione climbed over the girl's body while Harry roughly pulled her towards him, her butt almost falling from the border of the desk. He tasted her.

Daphne gasped and opened her eyes. Hermione fisted her blonde hair with a smile on her face. She lifted her short skirt, revealing she had discreetly discarded her knickers while they walked.

After a light workout, they slumped to the ground. Hermione tried to reach for Harry's trousers but he batted her hands away, shaking his head. While he very much wanted to find some release, he knew the experience would be subpar at best. He was sure he needed the Fragments first even if he had to see the disappointment in Hermione's eyes. He petted her hair instead.

"We need to go…" Daphne muttered. "…classes…"

"Fine," Hermione whimpered, using a spell to remove the sweat from her clothes. Harry fixed himself while Daphne dressed.

"We didn't perform the inspection as we should," Hermione suddenly remembered. She took a scroll from her pocket and a pencil. "Numbness?"

"My legs are still a little wobbly…"

"Not now, slut. During the week."

"Oh! No, no numbness."

"Nightmares? Distortions on your vision? Shadows hiding in the corners? Voices?"

"Nothing."

"Surges in magic?"

"It's waving a little bit."

"Episodes of pain, heat, shock?"

"Nothing."

"Body measurements?"

"I gained an inch in the bust and two in the hips."

"Any other changes worth mentioning?"

"My hair is silkier and a little lighter in colour. My fingers are a little bit longer. My magic is easier now. I also have a better sense of smell and hearing."

"Any Veela powers?"

"Nothing," Daphne slumped. "The allure is kind of locked inside… The fire is out of reach. But I can report I'm not having periods or cramps anymore."

"Yes, you said it the last three weekly reports, Daphne."

"Spoilsport. You are just jealous because I have a superior body."

"Do I need to remind you where your superior tongue was not five minutes ago?"

Harry tuned their discussion out as he read his letters. He frowned.

"Harry? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Hermione. Sorry, Hagrid wants me to see something in his hut tonight, he is being kind of mysterious about it… I thought he was just occupied making all those systems even if Flitwick is helping him now but… Well, it must be nothing."

"And the Gringotts letter?"

"Just something about my inheritance. Now that Mrs Tonks had found Remus John Lupin and he agreed… Well, he wrote me a letter last week about some of his life, why he never stepped forward to raise me… Why he wasn't in the country the night my parents died… I'm kind of self-doubting if he really is worth the trouble…"

"Why? Is ther—?" Hermione, however, was interrupted by a loud snort from Daphne. They looked at her.

"Sorry, it's just… Remus Lupin. Why a parent would name a child _that_? They really must like the theme, don't you think? 'Look, here is my newborn, Wolfy McWolf!'"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Bad taste for names aside, why wouldn't he be a good proxy? Is he a Voldemort sympathizer?"

"No," Harry sighed. "The problem's that Wolfy McWolf is a Werewolf."

Daphne's laughter echoed through the dungeons while they watched helplessly.

* * *

The door closed behind Parkinson with a slight squelch as the silencing charms took effect. The room was small and it was packed with students. Hermione and Daphne had invited the most trustworthy between them but Harry's sudden necessity for a large number had stretched them thin.

From Ravenclaw, there was Su Li, Padma Patil, Mandy Brocklehurst, Amanda Palmer, Lisa Turpin, Michael Corner and Terry Boot. Susan Bones and her best friend Hannah Abbot, Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins and Leanne McLean rounded up the Hufflepuffs. Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Sally-Ann Perks and Fay Dunbar huddled together, away from the other Gryffindors: Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Dean Tomas and Seamus Finnegan. Besides Pansy Parkinson, the other Slytherins were also girls: Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and Morag McDougal. At the end opposite the door, Harry divided a couch with Hermione and Daphne.

"Thank you for coming," he started, as soon as Pansy found a good spot, standing with her back against the wall, near the door. "I think it's obvious but let me say it: what we are discussing can't leave this room. Are you alright with that?"

There were some nods here and there, making him frown.

"Let me be direct. I need your help to do something urgent, dangerous and illegal. I need to know you are in, even if you opt out. If someone snitches us, everybody here will suffer the consequences, so I need those that aren't feeling one hundred per cent okay to leave now."

"One hundred per cent okay about what, exactly, Potter?" Parkinson asked, her face twisted in a frown.

"There is an illegal dragon at Hogwarts and I need help to smuggle it out."

The silence after his allegation was quite disturbing. However, Weasley decided that was the moment to explode.

"What are _they_ doing here?" He asked, pointing at the Slytherin girls. "They obviously will snitch us as soon as they step outside."

"I asked Hermione and Daphne to gather people they trust, Weasley," Harry answered. "If they trust them, I trust them."

"You are bonkers, then!" Weasley snapped. "Why do you trust _her_ in the first place? She is the Ice Princess of Slytherin!"

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley," Parkinson intruded. "Are you really that dense? Potter and Greengrass are bumping uglies since the year started, that's why he _trust_ her."

"What!" Parvati Patil exclaimed, along with most girls and some boys. Seamus Finnegan discreetly offered Harry a thumbs up.

"Don't be like that, Pansy," Daphne chided. "Besides, I don't know what you are talking about. I'm a virgin."

"Yes, right," Parkinson dismissed with her poshest tone. "And so is Granger, right?"

"WHAT!" Hermione yelled. " _I_ am a virgin!"

"No one believes you are a virgin, Granger, please," Parvati sniggered. Padma threw a ball of parchment at her sister.

Harry placed a hand on a scandalized Hermione's knee, holding her down. Parkinson flashed her a sardonic smile. He held the older girl in place.

"Okay, enough of that, let's put the facts on the table. As I said, there is an illegal dragon here. It entered Hogwarts as a smuggled egg but it hatched a couple of weeks ago. Weasley's brother is a dragon handler in Romania so I asked Weasley to contact him. He and some friends will take the dragon from our hands but as this is a quite illegal thing to do, they will come here using brooms instead of official means and I need help to carry the dragon to the extracting place."

Parkinson was inching toward the door. Most of the children inside the room was glancing between him and the nearest exit.

"I'm not asking you to help me for free, okay."

That put them somewhat at ease.

"I'm paying ten galleons to everybody who helps me smuggle out the dragon. If you still have some difficult converting galleons to muggle money, that's around five hundred pounds."

He let that sink in.

"For those that don't need money, I have here 1% shares for one of my companies. It's inactive right now but it will produce money next year and you will get one per cent of the liquid profit. The contract is written so you don't have any responsibilities if the business goes under. Just profit, no expenses for you. You can have either the ten galleons now or the profits for the rest of your life as soon as the company begins to sell."

"Why are you doing this now? Do you have the dragon?" Davies asked.

"One of my friends has the dragon. Personally, I wanted to do it slowly and with a good plan or even through official means… But one of your housemates discovered the dragon. Draco Malfoy saw me handling it."

There was a low groan among the Slytherin girls but Harry couldn't identify who did it.

"Yes, he forced my hand. But, he knows he can't simply accuse me of having a dragon. The beast was moved to another hiding place. His only chance is to catch me moving the dragon out of Hogwarts. That's why I need someone else to do it in my place. If we do it right, Malfoy will be the only one caught out of bed tonight. The possibility of him losing a load of points and getting into a difficult position in your House also sounds nice to me."

By Bulstrode maniac smile, she was also quite alright with that possibility. While Slytherins maintained a carefully crafted image of unity outside their dorm, Daphne had told him Malfoy abused his peers, humiliating the girl for her size and possible giant blood while loudly declaring Parkinson as his "second option" if his father couldn't get him a marriage contract with Daphne. While having a backup marriage contract was common in the extreme-pureblood families, talking about it was impolite enough that even the most well-groomed witch would rebel against her imbecile groom-to-be.

"What's the plan?" Dean asked. Harry smiled, that's why Gryffindors are needed when shit can hit the fan.

"The dragon is still small enough to be carried. It will be asleep, inside a sealed box. Six people are necessary to carry it, even with the feather-weight charms: four carry it, one watches the back, another goes in the front, you cycle around so not to get too tired. Another six will be waiting inside the castle, midway. You pass the box to the second group and go to bed. The second group carries it to the rendezvous point and wait for Charlie Weasley. That point is the stone bridge."

"Why not the Astronomy Tower?" Brown asked, making everybody look at her. "What? It's the highest tower in the castle, wouldn't it be better for a group on brooms?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "And that's what Malfoy will think. He will try to intercept a group going to the tower, not to the lower and far-away stone bridge. And he will find it. Another box will leave a different point and journey to the Tower. However, that box will have no dragon."

"A decoy," MacDougal recognized.

"A decoy. When the group notices Draco is near, be it the first or second group responsible for the decoy box, they will run away. The box will be left behind, making Malfoy lose time and if done right, even some face in front of the professors. While that happens, the real box will be safely in the hands of Weasley and his friends."

"And where is the box?" Parkinson finally asked. Harry swept his hair back using his right hand. "Potter, where is the dragon?"

"The dragon is at a small clearing… a quarter of a mile deep into the Forbidden Forest."

She walked to the door, placing her hand on the doorknob. As the door resisted, she turned back to him.

"Open the door, Potter."

"Please, just hear me out, Parkinson-"

"No. You are asking me to risk my life for a quarter of my monthly allowance or a promise of some knuts in the future. I won't babble about this madness of yours to the Professors but I. am. leaving."

"I'm in," Neville quietly announced.

"Your sense of loyalty surpasses your survival instinct and logic," Parkinson sneered. "Good for you, have a nice death. I'm out."

"You do realize you are wasting a good opportunity to make some real money, don't you, Pansy?" Daphne asked, standing up and approaching the girl. " _Alohomora_."

The door opened and Parkinson stepped outside.

"You do realize you are asking me to put my life on the line just because your boyfriend asked me, don't you, Daphne?"

"You saw what Neville gained for trusting him."

"You can't compare these situations! Longbottom played with potted plants underwater while he is asking me to enter the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night under a full moon!"

"How do you know today's a full moon?" Finnegan interjected, making every girl roll their eyes.

"Girls know these things, sweetie," Brown patronized. "Now, shut up."

"Third Years go further into it during their Care of Magical Creatures."

"During the day! With a Professor! I'm not risking my life for knuts!"

"You don't own anything, Pansy," Daphne said, her nose almost touching the girl's. "Everything you wear, eat and use is your father's. You know Harry can make money, hell he is only a First Year and already made Neville rich with just an idea. If he has another good one, or even if he sells something with his name branded on it, that piece of parchment will make you real money. Money that will be yours. You know what happens to witches like us, where our lives lead. You are my friend, I don't want you to spend the rest of your life drinking yourself to death and leaving in fear of your husband because you don't have a single option out."

"Then help me, don't ask me to kill myself in this imbecile plan!"

"I can't help you. I have nothing in my name. But he does… And I'm ready to pay the price."

Parkinson closed the door silently. Her short heeled shoes clicked against the stone of the floor as she walked with purpose. Standing just before Harry, she let herself fall on one of the chairs.

"Let me see this bloody contract."

* * *

After a light dinner, Harry strolled towards the Library. He had felt pure relief when he saw Dumbledore had been absent from the Great Hall. He only had three weeks since Hagrid had shown him the egg to develop a way for his giant friend not to be thrown in the jail. The fact that twenty-four First Year students would be out of their beds and roaming the castle in the middle of the night with a dragon and a box crammed full of Zonko's best and loudest fireworks would make a perfect opportunity for three time-travellers to steal the Stone was just… coincidence.

Dean Tomas bumped shoulders with him as they crossed ways in the corridor. Harry apologized and continued walking, a map to the Tower lighter. He discreetly checked his clock. The first two groups would leave around fifteen minutes to midnight, one from the Forest, the other from Hagrid's backyard. They had used the old and trusted method of placing pieces of parchment with their names inside Neville's hat and sorting them to form groups. He had to spend a lot of money to compensate their help, even after all the Slytherins had refused the galleons and instead had taken the shares. Lavender had been the only non-Slytherin to choose future profit instead of a pocket full of coins. He mentally marked her as a future ally in their business.

In the Library, Hermione had been cramming some new spells that could be useful in their little adventure. Daphne was filling her nails under a silencing charm.

"So?" He asked, sliding on the bench. Hermione ignored him, her nose buried in a tome onwards.

"Dean and Susan are the leaders for the first two groups. I passed them the invisibility cloaks, they were a lot more confident after that. Where did you find them?"

"Hermione enchanted my bed sheets. They are more like the disillusioning spell instead of true invisibility and will fail in six hours or so. The real cloak goes with us. How are you with the illusion spell?"

"Reasonably well, the shadows are all wrong, of course, but it shows a convincing image of us all, deep asleep under our blankets. Who is doing it in the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor rooms? Finnegan would be great to fake a Death Eater attack with that tendency for explosions his magic has but this spell is too subtle for First Years."

"Hufflepuffs wouldn't betray their own and if a Gryffindor is out of bed in the middle of the night, the House is more prone to cheer than anything else."

"What about Dumbledore? He wasn't on his chair during dinner."

"I instructed Mrs Tonks to release the news about Remus Lupin being the proxy for Harry Potter's fortune to the Wizengamot during lunch today. They will probably scream at each other well into tomorrow's morning now that a werewolf is going to be in charge of my accounts. Let us hope Dumbledore is arrogant enough to not transfer the ownership of the wards to McGonagall before leaving. That will give us some time."

"And Malfoy is going to find an anonymous tip about us not being in our beds," Daphne continued. "He will go straight to Snape and Filch. That will remove them from the Corridor. The Prefects will be in their beds… So that leaves us just Quirrell as a possible enemy and maybe three Professors doing rounds."

"Four," Hermione corrected, raising her head and closing the book. "Sprout, Flitwick, Sinistra and Babbling have rounds tonight. I saw the scale in the Professors Lounge."

"Let's hope our First Year friends make enough racket with the decoy. I passed them a map that uses the furthest path from the Corridor. We leave five to midnight. Are you both in?"

"Yes," they answered in unison. Hermione laughed. "Ginny will throw a fit when she discovers she missed a robbery."

"I wish she was here," Daphne sighed. "She is the best fighter among us…"

"She is ten and without Fragments," Hermione rebuked. "She doesn't even have a wand. And, tomorrow, I will have Fragments on my back while she will have to wait until August… I'll be on top this summer!"

Harry sighed.

"We are holding the Ceremony until summer, Hermione. There will be no Fragments on you tomorrow."

"Whatever," she dismissed. "I have taken enough supplementing potions to surpass any malformation or sub-nutrition from my childhood, I also have eaten healthy every day since coming to Hogwarts, exercised regularly and trained my magic. I'm aiming for at least four Fragments this time. And, with an entire Stone to play with for the rest of my life, I will crack the secret about the number of Fragments a person can hold. I'll discover the path for an infinite number of Fragments."

"Well, share it with me, sister," Daphne laughed. "It would be funny to have Ginny under me at least once…"

"Let's focus on the robbery instead of topping each other, okay?" Harry demanded. "Daphne, you need to get out of the Slytherin Common Room and meet us in the Third Floor, near the stairways. Do you need the cloak?"

"No, I can do the Disillusion, don't worry. Let's synchronize our watches."

"Why?" Hermione frowned. "They are in sync with the lunar cycle, they never get delayed or advance."

"Hermione," Daphne sighed, taking her hand. "You have no sense of romance whatsoever. At least wear your hair under a black woollen cap, okay?"

"…if you say so," Hermione shrugged. "Let's go back to the Tower, I want to sleep a bit before the _mission_."

"Can you?" Harry asked in surprise.

"No, but I'm about to throw up so it's better to be in my bedroom when I have a meltdown."

"You could wait in my bedroom."

"People already have a bad enough image of me, so no, no wandering into boy's rooms in the middle of the night."

"You could wait in _my_ bedroom."

"I'm not risking a mass lynching."

"Spoilsport."

* * *

"I _knew_ it," Pansy Parkinson hissed. "I fucking knew it. Random selection my ass, they punished me for complaining before."

"Paranoiac much, Pansy?" Dean asked. The other four behind them sniggered. Parkinson transmitted her loathing for him in her side glance. As it was too dark to see, the signal was lost before he could pick it up.

"Don't call me by my first name, you sordid mudblood."

"Ouch, that was harsh," Dean retorted, his laid-back attitude driving her mad. "And, really, 'sordid'? You Pureblood fellas are straight from a novel."

"Should we really be talking aloud?" Parvati asked, trembling under her coat. "There could be… _things_ here."

"Yes, things that could rip the flesh from our bones," Parkinson said. "Things that could curse us to a life worse than death. I can't believe Greengrass convinced me to do this. She must have used some kind of confounding magic on me."

"Why do you guys keep calling each other by your surnames?" Dean asked, his hands behind his head. "Aren't you friends or something like that?"

"We are housemates, not friends. You need a certain degree of intimacy to be a friend."

"And how can you have that intimacy if you don't even call each other by your names?"

"You… Well, you have… uh… recognition for each other. Like after doing something worthy of respect, you recognize them as a friend."

"Like strolling into the Forbidden Forest near midnight?"

"Forget it, Thomas, I will never be your friend. People like me don't mingle with people like you."

"Why? Because I'm black?" He quietly asked.

"What?" Parkinson glanced at him. "What the colour of your skin has to do with that? It's because you are a mudblood, obviously."

"Incredible," he wondered aloud. "I traded racism for fantastical racism."

"I really think we should be quieter," Parvati pleaded. "I can feel something _watching_ me."

"What is that?" Su asked, pointing to something in the corpse of trees, away from the trail they were following.

"Don't say that. Really, don't say that," Dean muttered, refusing to look at where she was pointing.

"Why?" Hannah Abbot whispered.

"Because they always say that in the films, just before being killed. And you know what? The black guy always snuffs it first."

"What are you talking about, Thomas?" Pansy sneered. It was a very mild and quiet sneer, however.

"I saw something silvery there," Su whispered back. "There? Can you see it? In the trunk, like a smear. The moon reflects on that."

"Must be some kind of sap," Terry Boot answered. "Neville showed me some trees that produce golden sap."

"It looks like blood," Su informed. "Is there something with silver blood?"

"Werewolves are weak against silver," Dean tried.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Parkinson interjected. "Silver does nothing to a werewolf. And their blood is red just like a human's."

"How about we shut up, move faster and get this done quicker?" Dean rebuked, forcing himself to continue forward. They moved as silently as possible. Less than three minutes later they found the clearing, a huge wooden box right in the middle of it.

Carefully, Dean approached the box. He placed his hand on the rough wood. It was trembling slightly. He placed his ear on the side planks and heard. A small laugh escaped from his lips.

"He's snoring," he informed the group, making Parvati giggle. "Let's take this boy out of here."

There were iron rings attached to each side of the box but the thing was still really heavy. Parkinson took her wand from her rear pocket.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, little witch," said a woman's voice, making Hannah jump and Parvati and Terry to scream.

There was a teenager hidden amidst the foliage, her long green hair flying wildly in some imaginary wind. She removed a strand that was glued to the corner of her mouth, her long clawed fingers frightening them even more. She had purple eyes that shined under the full moon.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, placing himself between the teenage and the group. He raised his wand but he was shaking so much he doubted he could produce a spell. He doubted even more that a spell could do something to the girl.

"I am a dryad," she answered. "A guardian to this forest. There is something wrong here, an outsider that arrived the last moon. I came to investigate."

"We are taking the dragon away, he won't bother you anymore," he assured her. "We are getting out of here now, okay? Is that fine with you?"

"You should hurry, son of Adam," she warned him. Her eyes were like liquid fire. "But don't use your magic here. They are attracted to it… Leave, now."

" _They?_ "

"They. The things in the night. Things the moon can't chase away. Leave and don't return. The Forest isn't safe anymore."

"Anymore?" Muttered Parkinson, pushing Hannah back towards the box. "Let's get the hell out of here."

She pocketed her wand, fidgeted for a bit and took it out again, holding it tip down, parallel to her tight. Dean did the same, taking the rear and rushing them silently. The box was still heavy but they didn't complain anymore. Hannah threw the big cloth sheet over the box and its carriers, disappearing under the camouflage spell. If not for the slight shimmer under the silvery light, they would be impossible to find. He looked back but the dryad had already left without a sound.

They were walking for almost a minute when Su's voice quietly floated in the silent Forest.

"I remembered which creature has silver blood: unicorns."

"What is that?" Parkinson asked, pointing to a fork on the trail.

"I already said not to say that," Dean whispered but the others had frozen in place. "What are you guys waiting for?"

There was a pearly white horse body laying on the left side of the fork, one that wasn't there not even five minutes before. The beautiful creature was still alive, its long legs moving a little, low sounds echoing in the sudden silence. Behind him, a cloaked human figure was bent over the unicorn's flank, its face touching the white fur marred with silver. The figure raised its head, the hood shadowing his face but not being able to hide a trail of silvery blood dripping from his lips.

Ignoring the great advice he had just been given, Dean raised his wand and did the only thing he could.

" _Flipendo_!" He enchanted, the invisible spell crashing against the cloaked man like a hammer fueled by pure desperation. It fell backwards, giving them a tiny chance of living to tell the tale. "RUN!"

* * *

Harry unlocked the door with a silent _alohomora_. He supposed Malfoy had already discovered the illusion on the bedroom as Filch and Snape weren't guarding the door, just Madam Norris, now petrified by Hermione's wand. Daphne wound up the small music box Hermione had brought from home after the Equinox. The door creaked upon opening, a low huffing sound coming from inside.

The middle head opened its huge eyes and sniffed the air, the movement waking up the other two heads. They shook like a common dog's head but instead of cute, it was terrifying as the huge dog raised from the floor on its strong legs. Daphne released the winding key and placed the music box just inside the forbidden corridor.

The metallic notes filled the long room, making the dog pause. It looked around searching for the source of the song. Hermione had enchanted it to play for longer than it normally could but the song wouldn't last forever. The right head dropped a bit while the left one openly yawned. Little by little, the giant monster sat down again, stretching and then rolling to its side. After a whole minute, it was deep in sleep again.

"The trapdoor," Daphne mouthed, pointing to the wooden board just in front of the left head. They tiptoed into the room, closing the door behind them. The music box continued to play a simple, slow valsa. There was no need for a spell to open the trapdoor. However, as soon as they lifted it, Harry felt the ward around it to break and signal for the owner the breach of security. He really hoped Dumbledore was still the owner or else the visit would be cut very short.

There was only darkness below the door. They didn't dare to use a light spell right in front of the Cerberus. Instead, Harry removed a potion bottle from his pocket and dropped it into the hole. With the hardening charm on the glass, it wouldn't shatter upon landing but no sound came from the hole. He broke in sweat thinking the well would be insanely deep. However, after some seconds a feeble green glow appeared in the darkness below, signalling the bottle. It wasn't too deep, the vial had simply landed on something soft.

Unstrapping the school broom from his back, he manoeuvred towards the mouth of the well, descending as slow as possible. The glow wasn't strong enough to illuminate the room but it revealed huge shadows around him as if the walls were behind drapes. As soon as he descended enough, Daphne flew through the trapdoor, Hermione sharing the broom behind her. They closed the trapdoor, plunging the room in deep darkness. After an instant, even the glow died as the potion inside run its course and became just a useless goop.

" _Lumus_ ," Hermione enchanted, the bright white light from her wand finally revealing the room.

There were vines covering the walls and part of the ceiling around the trapdoor, a huge amount of it completely hiding the floor under them. However, the thick vines weren't normal as they pulsed in rhythm as if they were some grotesque kind of vein, the palm-sized leaves on them adorned with a nasty-looking serrated border. Under them, the plant moved like waves on the surface of a lake.

Harry hadn't seen that kind of plant before but he was already flying the furthest from the walls as possible. He tried to find the exit to the well but the vines were even thicker and more tangled near the bottom. He wondered if he should try to cut them when Daphne screamed.

He looked up and the vine attacked him.

A tentacle-like vine as thick as a man's arm twisted around his wrist, almost knocking him out of his broom. The vine's pull was strong like a cargo truck and Harry was sure his arm would be dislodged if he wasn't suspended in the air. As the plant pulled him like a fish caught on a line, more tentacles snaked from behind the vertical ones. He awkwardly used his left hand to raise his wand.

" _Diffindo_!" He tried, the cutting spell slashing at the tentacle around his wrist. With a splash of fetid green sap, he severed the vine and freed himself. Using his hips to direct the broom, he moved away from the wall, avoiding another tentacle by a hair's breath. He showered the plant with cutting curses, trying desperately to find Hermione and Daphne.

The blonde screamed her own severing curse and almost hit Harry on the face, his quick reflexes saving him from a beheading. The well was too tight for them to keep a safe distance from each other, their wild spells becoming more dangerous than the plant itself.

" _Diffindo_!" Daphne yelled, slashing her wand in a horizontal move, severing everything in her path. Sap and parts of the vine fell on Harry who was lower, the distraction allowing the plant to catch him again, around the torso. The broom buckled under him, difficulting the aim.

"Daphne! Help!" He shouted. Daphne threw another cutting curse but the plant dodged it, slamming Harry against the wall hard enough for him to lose his breath. Another vice circled his shoulder, the smaller leaves cutting his cheek as they snaked around the wand arm. Daphne had a vine around her ankle, forcing her to hover mid-air while trying to sever it, spinning in place to avoid other tentacles. Harry felt the vine circle his neck. He briefly wondered why every plant life he met wanted to kill him.

" _IGNIS FLAGELLUM_ ," Hermione intoned amidst the plant debris, a stream of flames flowing from her wand and attacking the neared wall, producing a shrill from the plant. Harry could see the flame whip moving as she directed it, burning everything in its way. "It's a Devil's Snare, use fire against it!"

" _Incendio_ , Harry followed her advise, the fire finally setting him free. Hermione was twirling her wand around, mowing the plant like an enraged blender. He made a tight turn and plunged, allowing a constant stream of flames to pour around him. The Devil's Snare shrilled and cried like a tortured child. He broke the fall just a few feet over the plant-covered floor. " _Incendio_!"

The smell and smoke were making his head dizzy, he toppled over as soon as he landed, chocking on sap and burnt green wood. Daphne and Hermione were a frightening mess, gooey green streaks marring their faces and tangling their hair. Hermione looked like was going to throw up. She really hated flying. Daphne lamented her ruined uniform with a strangled mutter.

Hermione removed the sap-covered woollen cap and threw it away. She wiped her face in disgust.

"Where now?" She asked at last. Harry increased the strength of his light, reaching the dark corners of the bottom of the well. There were still some remains of the plant alive and they crawled away from the unforgiven white glow.

"There, a door," he pointed, crossing the room with care not to slip on the goo. He coughed, the smoke was thickening as the vines still attached to the walls burned. He hoped the trapdoor were sealed tight or else the whole castle would smell their barbecue and come looking for them.

The door wasn't locked but it was jammed. The humid environment had rusted it since installation. It took a few bludgeoning hexes to make it burst open. Forcing his body through the jagged hole, Harry could hear the sound of water running.

Daphne helped Hermione to cross, the older girl was drenched in sweat. Harry rummaged his rucksack for the water bottle, from which she drank greedily.

"Do you want to rest a bit?" He asked but she negated with her head.

"I'm just a little bit winded. That spell took a lot of concentration to keep alive. Let's get this done quickly so I can return to my bed."

"Wings," Daphne interrupted, cocking her head to the side. "I thought it was water… But there is some kind of bird inside."

They opened the next door after crossing the short corridor. The golden glow of torches blinded them for an instant and Harry extinguished his wand. He walked forward but Hermione held him by snatching the back of his hoodie.

Rubbing the light out of his eyes, he properly saw the room for the first time. It was a large cube of stone, a heavy door right before them, at the opposite wall. There was a pile of gold hiding the entire floor, tall enough that Harry supposed he would fall to the waist inside it. Above them, near the ceiling, hundreds of golden birds flew wildly, dropping more gold to the pile.

"Birds? What the hell is this?" He wondered aloud.

"They aren't birds but keys," Daphne corrected, her sharp eyes tracking their movement. "Keys with silver wings. Keys on the floor. This whole room is full of keys!"

Harry got down and reached for one of the golden keys on the floor. It looked normal enough, a little bit on the larger side. However, as soon as he touched it, the key got incredibly heavy and split in two like a cell dividing itself. One of the keys fell from his palm back to the pile. After a few moments, the key he was still holding duplicated again.

"Let it go or else it won't stop," Hermione instructed. "It's a _gemino_ charm. The fakes are perfect copies from the source including the charm itself. They will just keep duplicating as long as you touch them."

One of the keys flew low enough for them to see it collide with another. As soon as they touched, two new duplicates were produced, falling to the pile. Harry could imagine walking into the pile and being suffocated in instants by the doubling of every key touching his body.

"Do you think that any key would unlock the door and the challenge is just to cross the room?" He asked, full of hope. Both girls shook their heads. "Great. How do we even start sorting out Uncle Scrooge's Money Bin?"

"Uncle what?" Daphne asked.

Hermione sighed.

* * *

Dean knew he had made a mistake when he had used a spell in the Forbidden Forest. As soon as the magic had dissipated after knocking back the monster shaped like a human, the air had changed. The group had run, still carrying the box with the dragon, still invisible except for him and Parkinson. However, without their scouts, they had quickly got lost as soon as another fork appeared in the trail.

It was ironic that the one with the map had taken the wrong turn and even worse that, from all people to follow his mistake, it had to be the girl. He tried to backtrace but then realized they had left the trail altogether. After walking for almost a full minute, they were so lost inside the Forest he suspected magic had a hand on it.

"We are dead," Parkinson whimpered, the full moon showing tear tracks on her small face. The guys in Gryffindor called her Pugface because she had a tiny nose and a permanent frown. Now her face was scrunched in despair. "We are dead and dead and dead…"

"Parkinson, shut up," he whispered. She looked out of it as if walking inside a dream. Afraid she would wander off he reached for her hand, grasping it tightly. "It moved too slowly, we are safe now."

His touch startled her out of her daze. Some of her scowl returned, making him feel a lot better. Still, she didn't take her hand from his.

"We are _lost_ , in the Forbidden Forest! We will die from starvation if… those things don't catch us first. We are _dead_."

"Okay, first, let's stop," he commanded. They were in a large clearing, the night sky perfect above them just like a painting. From the position of the moon, they were lost for less than an hour. "I've gone fishing with my dad loads of times, so I know a thing or two about camping and finding my way on a forest. Despairing won't do us any good. So, I want you to take a deep, deep breath and sit just a little bit near that tree, can you do that, Pansy?"

"Y— Yes," she complied with no fight. He thought she must be really scared not to argue about his use of her first name. Dean searched for two twigs on the ground before laying down. "What are you doing? You are sinking in the mud."

"That's okay, I can change after we arrive at the castle," he reassured her. "See that bright star just above the line of the trees? First I drive the shorter stick on the ground just on the level of my sight. Then I plant the taller one behind and close my left eye, now the star is aligned with the tips of those two twigs. Now we wait for just a bit so I can see where she's moving to."

The silence fell between them, she was shivering a little and he wondered if she wanted his cloak. He felt sweat dripping from his back. After some tense minutes, he rose from the ground.

"It's moving towards my right, we are facing the South. Do you have a wizarding watch on you?"

She rummaged her pocket and produced a small pocket watch dangling on a chain. He opened it and moved around. There were twelve hands and a lot of planet symbols on it and he still had difficulty reading the hours on it but Dean knew a wizarding watch had some fixed planets that never changed place even when he moved the mechanism around, just like a compass. If he knew how to read it properly, he wouldn't even need the trick with the star.

"See this blue symbol here? It's just perfectly aligned with the star and no matter how we move the watch, it stays in place, can you see it? Okay, now we entered the Forest Northwest from Hogwarts, so if the South is in front of us, we have to walk a little bit to the left of it. Here, keep it in your hand, see, just move towards this little hand here and we will arrive somewhere near Hagrid's, okay?"

"Oka—"

A wolf howled so loud it split the night. Every hair on Dean's body stood up as if something primal inside him suddenly remembered what that sound meant. Unlike in the films, no other howl answered but it sounded again, closer.

Pansy was crouched on the ground near the mud puddle, her hands pressing her ears in refusal to hear. Dean forced her arm to lower down.

"We need to move, now, before the wolf arrives here."

"It's not a wolf, you idiot," she said, her voice a strand away from madness, her eyes the size of galleons. "It's a werewolf. It can smell us. It's over."

Ignoring the thumping from his heart, he roughly shoved her back until the Slytherin fell in the mud.

"What?"

"Rub it," he commanded, splashing the smelly mud over her face and torso. "Rub it on your arms, quickly, quickly, it's coming."

She didn't move, he snarled as he dank her in the mud.

"Mask your scent, hurry! Hide your face, don't step out of it," he smeared mud on her hair and nape, letting it slide inside her robes. The Forest was silent except for the sound of a rushing animal, a thing heavier and faster than anything he and his dad had ever met before. He stood up.

"What are you doing?" She asked, covered in mud from head to toe and half-sunken in the hole. He offered her an encouraging smile.

"I see you back in the castle."

"Thomas, don't do that!" She hissed but he was already stepping away from her. "I swear to Merlin I will murder you if you do that."

The thing was approaching. Too fast, too vicious. He needed to move before he was caught right in front of her eyes. Dean waved merrily, his heart beating against his eardrums.

"See you later, Pansy," he said.

Then he turned and ran.

* * *

AN:

So, there is that.

Okay, I'm kidding. I'm so excited to be finally seeing the ending of this "arc". There had been so much world building (two-worlds building) this "Year" that it feels great to challenge myself and write a lot of action. I'm not good at writing fast-paced scenes so I reworked this chapter a lot these few months and even today I added a sentence here or there to "improve" it a little bit more. I hope you like it.

I also have to answer all those gorgeous reviews from last chapter AND the chapter before. I'm so sorry for ignoring you guys for so long! Let's answer all of them right now!

Just 3 more chapters to go (and the epilogue/intermission/whatever-you-call-it)!

Stay tuned and see you guys soon!

PS. At soon as the story "ends", before posting the Second Year there will be a two-week "vacation" for me. After that, I'll be asking for help from voluntaries to review and correct the grammar, vocabulary and punctuation of the whole First Year. This project won't have a deadline but it's my intention to polish it fully so it's more enjoyable, less awkward to read and more accessible. Also, someone suggested me to open a poll for favourite character so I'll do that and the most voted character will have a special one-shot on Halloween. :D More coming soon!


	11. The Ritual

There was little doubt that Albus Dumbledore was a great and powerful wizard. Even when he was just the Transfiguration Master of Hogwarts people already respected his palpable power and wise counsel. After defeating the Dark Lord Grindelwald in fair combat, his name rose above every other, spoken by some in the same breath and reverence as Merlin's name itself. Being indicated as the Headmaster of the prestigious school was almost obvious, and raising in prominence as a councillor of the government was just as expected.

He had fought bravely against it, it's true. Repeatedly turning down higher positions, refusing titles and medals, shyly accepting the Order of Merlin, mostly because returning it would be a slap in the face of the wizarding world. The Order, however, had been a visible trap into which Albus Dumbledore resigned himself to walk. As a holder of the First Class, he became part of the Wizengamot and in short while fell prey to higher and higher positions. A little more than ten years before, he had been wrangled into the role of Supreme Mugwump. If not for the budget for three First-Assistants the job entailed, it would be impossible to juggle such a responsibility along with the position of Headmaster. Still, he already had burned through every acceptable excuse in his tenement in the International Confederation of Wizards to avoid their interminable dinners and get-togethers, after all.

However, even his most elegant excuses couldn't take him away from an occasion like _that_. As four generations of wizards (two of them taught by himself, one could add) squabbled and argued in the Wizengamot Hall, Albus Dumbledore felt the weight of his many years on his shoulders — and the Umbridge woman's voice boring a whole thought his left temple.

At his left side at the long, curved table, sat Madam Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her head was down as if in great concentration, her quill moving in elegant flourishes as if she was signing the Statute of Secrecy itself. The table was, in fact, a long desk, so their workspace was hidden behind a wooden panel so that only their upper chest (in the Minister's case, his head) could be seen above it. If one of the esteemed members of their legislative body would stop screaming like a First Year on September 1st and observe at the tip of her quill moving left and right, they would be entranced by such activity and — possibly —, not realize she was occupied with the Daily Prophet's crossword.

Noticing she still hadn't guessed the main ingredient in the Gut-Chilling Draught (which was W-A-R-G-T-O-O-T-H, of course), he moved his gaze to the only other silent occupant of the Hall, the tall figure patiently waiting on the visitor's desk.

Andromeda Tonks née Black had been a phenomenal woman since her early teens. Unlike the brazen and reckless nature of her elder sister Bellatrix or the cunning and silent demeanour of younger Narcissa, Andromeda had always been the most fearsome among the Black sisters. Even poor Sirius or even poorer Regulus couldn't hold a candle to the girl's sharp mind, quick tongue and stoic face. Many wizards only saw raw magic and spell repertoire when gauging how powerful an enemy was and that's mainly why they are fooled with such ease. During his long life, Albus had learned better. Andromeda was one of those few souls that sincerely _enjoyed_ legal documents, contracts and musky law tomes of forgotten rules and ancient rites which hold no divinity. A woman like that was capable of anything, he believed.

She had been waiting at the desk on the centre of the circular room, Wizengamot members shouting around and over her but never at her. After her short and objective declaration about her client's intentions for his fortune, Andromeda Tonks had been quietly waiting for them to decide. Of course, if any other minor wanted to elect a proxy to manage their fortune, a simple notification from Gringotts to the proper sub-department would be more than enough. Merlin knows how many Pureblood heirs had done so without even informing the government and never got even a slap on the wrist for it. But that heir wasn't a simple Pureblood orphan reaching for money, nor was that fortune a common Vault filled with gold.

It had shocked him, to learn Harry Potter could pull such a card from his sleeve while barely in his teens. A fear had crept into his heart when he found about it but it was quickly put out when he remembered the night in front of the Mirror. Albus knew better than most the thrall of the cursed artefact. While the boy's mind had been locked in a future that would never be, he had discreetly used a spell to assert the situation from his scar. It had been such a relief to sense nothing from it but the remains of a foiled curse that his damned tongue had loosed far too much. Nonetheless, it was a good conversation and it made him realize Harry was a far more mature and well-rounded young lad than any of his peers.

As his most hopeful theory had hinted, the botched piece of soul hadn't survived the lack of ambient magic from his muggle home and the abrupt shifts a wizard's magic go through during their formative years. So, he reflected, the spectacle in front of him wasn't devised by young Tom whispering inside the child but by Harry's own design. It almost made him appreciate that phenomenal waste of time a little bit.

But then, a shiver ran down his back, pooling in his tailbone and dissipating to the north, chilling his gut and pointing the direction of the broken ward. He was on his feet before he could even get his thoughts in order.

"Albus? Is there something wrong?" The startled Madam Bones asked, sliding her newspaper under some law books she had brought to the room for appearance's sake.

Some of the men and women shouting at each other around the room quieted down and looked at him. Albus plastered his best smile on his face, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"I beg your pardon, my fellow members of the Wizengamot, I just need to stretch my legs a bit. How about we take a short break and reconvene here in… thirty minutes?"

"I agree!" Amos Diggory interjected, scrambling to his feet. "I don't know about you but that tea break four hours ago did nothing to fill the void in my gut!"

"It was forty minutes ago!" The old man Parkinson retorted, branding his wand. "We had enough breaks already, we need to do something about the werewolf!"

"YES!" Shrilled the pink stout woman. "Madam Bones! Call your Aurors to send the werewolf to jail, right now!"

Madam Bones was very far from amused. A whole galaxy away, from the look on her face.

"I see no werewolf in this Hall, Madam Umbridge," the woman coldly answered. "It's a relief, I assure you, as tonight it's a full moon."

"Y-You understood what I said! This woman says she is representing a werewolf!" Her short and thick finger pointed at Andromeda Tonks, whose expression hadn't changed at all. Dumbledore wondered if that was some kind of Occlumency exercise only known by the Black family. "Charge her and take her to Azkaban until she reveals where the beast is!"

"Imprisonment of an innocent wizard or witch is forbidden by our code of laws, Madam Umbridge. Torture even more so. I suggest you open the book some time. If you lost yours, my department can send you a new copy," Madam Bones offered, her glare heating the air between the two women. "Furthermore, as you aren't even a member of this legislative body, I fail to understand why are you making any demands to me. Do you need a copy of the Wizengamot Treaty as well?"

"Madam Bones had touched a very important topic," Albus interjected, glancing at his pocket watch. "Mr Remus Lupin, Harry Potter's appointed proxy, isn't here tonight to defend his position or rebuke any false claim. I suggest we send him a prompt notification and reconvene at the end of the week, with Mr Lupin and his lawyer. All in favour?"

Some were already raising their hands when Lucius Malfoy slammed the head of his cane on the desk.

"If I can interject, Supreme Mugwump," the man said, his voice dripping with false deference. "This is not a Court session, so the presence of Mr Lupin isn't required. This morning, Mr Potter has notified the Ministry about his intention of appointing a proxy to manage his quite sizable fortune — a fortune, I must point out, is bound to increase exponentially, as his work alongside young Mr Longbottom has shown — and Madam Umbridge courageously has brought this notification to attention when she discovered the aforementioned proxy is, in fact, a werewolf. Madam Umbridge promptly protocoled a notification to the Wizengamot with her findings, making Minister Fudge convoke this august body to deliberate about it. While the laws forbidding werewolves to apply for positions in the Ministry is still in the reviewing process — and while werewolves aren't forbidden by law to take a position as a proxy —, Madam Umbridge was concerned about a dark creature assuming the control of one of Great Britain's largest fortunes and approaching our quite young War Hero. Wasn't it just like that, Madam Umbridge?"

"Was it?" She asked, dazzled. She shook her head, gathering her bearings again. "Of course it was! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE, WE ARE TALKING ABOUT A WEREWOLF, A _DARK_ CREATURE, TAKING CONTROL OF MISTER POTTER'S FORTUNE! ABOUT A WEREWOLF, A _DARK CREATURE_ , SPENDING TIME ALONE WITH A CHILD! MORE THAN ANYTHING, _ABOUT A WEREWOLF, A DARK CREATURE, APPROACHING HARRY POTTER!_ "

Some of the older members started to shout, prompting the others to scramble to their feet and shout back. Some wanted the werewolf to be put down, others screamed for justice, yet others demanded the boy and his fortune to be left alone. Albus sighed.

"I'm taking a short visit to the toilet," he whispered to Madam Bones, who was pondering about the name of the first witch to breed firenewts. She nodded.

He forced himself to walk with aplomb and disinterest, strolling out of the Hall. As soon as the door closed behind him, quenching the enraged voices, he broke into a run, his old legs protesting against such abuse. Storming inside the bathroom, he conjured a Patronus, the beautiful phoenix floating in the air above the sinks.

"Severus, he has breached the ward, keep an eye on him, I'm coming as fast as I can," he relayed the message to the phantasmagorical bird. It flapped its wings and disappeared. Now, he just needed to find a fireplace and get the hell out of the Ministry before they realize he was gone. A sudden spike on his arterial pressure, he hadn't used that one in a long while. He was sure at least the older members would understand it.

There was a knock on the door.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" Asked a young voice, probably just out of his teens. The name was on the tip of his tongue… "It's Assistant Paige, sir. The Minister demands your presence back at the Wizengamot Hall."

Dumbledore opened the door with a trained smile, following the young man without a word. He was glad the boy wasn't versed in the art of Legilimancy, or else his reputation as a wise and patient Headmaster would shatter in an instant.

* * *

Harry cajoled the ratty school broom towards another attack, his manoeuvres a lot more difficult as the damn thing bucked sometimes to the left, sometimes towards the floor. He had shed the outer robe, exposing the common muggle clothing underneath it, after his cloak had clipped one of the flying keys, prompting another magical division. Amidst the cloud of agitated wings, he had to keep changing directions at random, trying to avoid the keys. His efforts, however, were barely enough, as he was sure the pile of copies under him had increased by a quarter since he began.

Tracking the silvery key with his eyes, he rolled around the shaft of the broom, his crossed shins and the strong grip from his left hand keeping him hanging in the air, under the broom. Keys zoomed in the space he had just vacated. Forcing the handle upwards, he swung his hips to the left, prompting the broom to twirl and void another attack from the keys, his hand extending towards his target. Grabbing the blasted thing, its fluttering wings cutting his hand once again, he coached the broom to cease flying and dropped to the ground.

After crossing the room, Hermione and Daphne used complex spells to measure the keyhole and produce a ghost copy of the necessary key. Of course, it was an inexact copy but it was enough for Harry's sharp eyes to find some candidates in the cloud of flying keys above them. Ignoring the pile of copies, he had snatched one of the flying ones and promptly discovered that the other keys held no love for a thief.

The cloud around him buzzed like angry bees once more, their erratic flight changing to an attack pattern, their sharp points shifting towards him. Harry broke his fall mounting on the broom again, shooting off towards the left wall, flying so close to the floor the tips of his shoes carved a groove in the golden pile under him, duplicating keys filling it almost as fast as he dug. Abruptly changing directions, he shot upwards, some of the flying keys slashing his clothes with their wings as they flew by in great speed. As with every other mass-enchanted object, there was a limit to the amount of intelligence the keys could hold, so they were fast and offensive but slow on changing directions and prone to crashing on each other.

Hermione raised her hand, perched behind Daphne on their broom, Harry flew in her direction, changing the angle so he would fly a little above her head. As he passed near her, as fast as the old broom could handle, he slapped the key on her hand and shoot off once again, the more or less organized metallic swarm still hunting him. Hermione slammed the key on the keyhole and tried to turn it but it was another fake. Instead of letting it go, she stuck it to the wall, like a fly caught on a glue trap. Daphne squinted her eyes, tracking another similar key.

"That one! Try that one! With the large wings!"

Harry turned the broom towards it, the swarm was already returning to their passive state. He corrected the angle, trying to catch it from below. He became too focused on his target, only noticing the golden key when its wing clipped his neck.

"Son of a bitch!" He roared in exhaustion, already dripping blood from multiple slashes on his arms, shoulders, chest and even on the right cheek. Forcing the broom more than he should, he sped up and caught the key just as the wooden shaft broke in two.

The key probably saved him from a good skull-cracking, as it was one of the largest ones, its wings valiantly trying to keep them afloat, Harry's hand tight around its body. The fall hurt a lot, nonetheless. Harry jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain on his back and legs, desperately sinking almost to his waist into the key pile. Forcing his right leg up, he climbed and crawled forwards, keys popping up into existence around him, drowning him, burying him.

As they multiplied by the hundreds around his body, Harry toppled from the sudden weight, falling face down on the pile. They kept duplicating, covering his head, pressing him further down, choking him. He forced himself to get up but the weight was too much already.

Daphne's hand seized him by the collar of his shirt, raising his head above the pile, letting air into his lungs.

"THE KEY!" She shouted, and he unburied his arm, showing her the key still in his clasp. Its wings were broken and twitching, smashed by the weight and the fall. It was great as Daphne could toss it to Hermione without worrying about the key running away. In the few seconds it took her to do so, Harry was covered in keys again.

The pseudo-Fragment in Daphne's navel couldn't grant her the boost of physical strength a real Stone shard did but her slow awakening as a Veela had already made her stronger than a normal twelve-year-old girl. Gritting her teeth and forcing her own broom, she hauled him from the pile and towed the boy by his collar, sliding on the glittery metal, leaving a trail of duplicates behind them. There was a small stone platform where the door was, so she dumped him there.

"IT OPENED!" Hermione exclaimed in delight. "HURRY!"

Feeling like death, Harry crawled through the doorway, entering another long and narrow corridor, just like the one linking the vine trap room to the key room. Hermione helped him to stand and Daphne fed him a pepper-up potion. They waited, chests pumping like frightened birds, as steam was released from Harry's ears.

"I hope this thing is ordered from worst to… less bad," Daphne wished, retying her hair into a long ponytail. "Am I being too positive if I guess the last room is a bedroom with a double bathtub?"

Hermione just groaned as her knees protested to another round of walking.

"Come on, it can't be far now," she encouraged. Harry carelessly tossed the potion vial to the floor. After taking the stone, they would use the packet on his backpack to destroy the whole corridor behind them and wipe out any chance for an investigation. He wiped his sweaty hands on his torn shirt before donning the cloak again.

There was another door but it was thankfully unlocked. The room was dark for an instant, torches creeping to life on the walls as soon as they entered it. It was another cavernous room, a polished checkered floor under their shoes, huge stone statues around them.

"It's a chess board," Hermione quickly recognized. The torches illuminating the room showed them the common pieces of wizard chess, their huge bases and well-detailed bodies.

As a fact, Harry detested the game. The pieces were loudmouths and it took time to bond with them enough so they would stop interfering with the game, the pieces would destroy each other if you don't convince them to play nicely and sometimes the king would get bored and start ordering around his queen, getting on a row that could take longer than the game itself to put out. During Yule, he had found one set on his magical cracker and quickly passed it forward to Neville, who still used it regularly to lose against Ron Weasley. The pieces were already calling the boy "Loserbottom". He hoped the challenge designer had enchanted the huge set anew and controlled their voices or else he would explode the entire set instead of playing.

"So, we have to play?" He asked the white king on the other side of the board. It nodded with its inexpressive stone head. The pieces had been made without their usual faces, the smooth stone giving them a creepy feeling.

Harry calculated the distance to the next door. He also calculated the size of their stupidly huge hexagonal bases and the size of the door they had just gone through.

"Maybe we have to play as some pieces?" Daphne asked. Before Harry could answer, Hermione cut him.

"Why would you think so? When one play wizard chess, they are the player, not a piece. Even if this chess set is oversized, there is no reason to hurt ourselves silly walking among those pieces. Am I right?"

The white king shook his head in negation.

"..." Hermione ducked her blushing head and meekly stood as a tower, the real stone piece moving out of the board. Daphne was already moving to be the queen.

"Wait, are any of you two good at chess?"

"I am terrible at it," Hermione confessed.

"I don't even know how to play," Daphne helpfully informed. "What about you?"

"I don't like the game," Harry explained. He raised his wand. "It has too few queens, anyway."

They rolled their eyes at him, not fazed with his _subtle_ compliment. It was a good thing they were in sync about everything else. Hermione's blasting curse hit the horse square on its blank face, blowing the piece to smithereens just as Daphne decapitated the black king. The pieces immediately turned against them, unsheathing weapons and bearing their shields. The three children ran back to the door they had just exited, safely hiding in the short corridor.

The second horse reached them first but it soon became clear whoever had designed the room had not noticed the size of the doorway. The piece's base was too large for it to pass through - Harry recognized it as a common mistake in transfiguration masters, they stopped thinking about how to get things in and out of room after transfiguring them, he had learned it the hard way when they moved together in a tiny apartment and Hermione had brought their first triple-sized bed. As the pieces were larger than the door itself, they also couldn't attack them in group. As it was, each piece would reach the door entrance, one of them would hurl a spell at it and destroy the stone, letting another one take its place.

"How many pieces are there in a chess set?" Daphne asked.

"Too many," Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson ran as she had never done in her life before. The night was becoming colder and darker, low branches hitting her face while she stumbled on raised roots and stray rocks. The pocket watch on her hand was stained from the blood of her palm and mud dripping from her hair. She was so tired, a hairbreadth away from falling to the ground in complete exhaustion but her legs kept pumping her forward.

The tree-line arrived unexpectedly, her eyes brimmed with tears before her dazed brain could even register she had exited the Forbidden Forest. She fell on her knees, maybe because of another stone, maybe her legs had finally run out of fuel. The cracked pocket watch slipped from her fingers and dropped in the mud. She shivered, her breath laborious. Then she forced herself to stand and started to run again.

Throwing propriety to the wind, she slammed her fist on the door, knocking loud enough to raise the dead.

"MR HAGRID," she cried out. "PLEASE, MR HAGRID, OPEN THE DOOR, PLEASE!"

Her knuckles were red, her tears soaked the caked up mud on her face. Every single part of the young girl's body protested in pain. Yet, she pounded the door unrelentingly.

"WHAT!" The giant roared, opening the door abruptly, the last of her punches landing on his large belly instead of the wood. Nonetheless, the man towering over her was so large and so strong that her jab must have felt like a mosquito landing on his clothes. She was scared of him, of course, every wizard and witch learned how giants (and, therefore, their half-blood offspring) were dangerous, warmongers with a thirst for blood they would turn to their own kin to violate and murder if no other victim was around. But that wasn't important anymore.

"Mr Hagrid, help me!"

"A Slyth'?" the man asked in wonder. "What you doin' her'?"

"The Forest! We were in the Forest! It attacked us!"

"WHAT! What you doing there-! Attacked you said?"

"We... The dragon-"

"Shut up!" He ordered, his voice raspy. "Inside, come!"

He slammed the door behind her. There was a monster of a dog lazying around in front of the fireplace. It raised its giant head to look at her but seemed disinterested. An owl hooted from above, amidst the ceiling beams, in the darkness. She trembled.

"Harry asked us for help with the dragon... Something was in the Forest... A thing as tall as a man, wearing a hooded cloak... It... It was drinking a silver thing from the dead unicorn."

Hagrid expelled a swearword, moving towards the back wall. He took a huge crossbow that was hanging from a nail. Its bolts were big enough to gore her whole heart out of her chest.

"Then what?" he asked gruffly. The dog left the rug in front of the fireplace, preparing for something just like his owner.

"Dean... Dean attacked it. It was... weak- distracted... We ran but we- I mean, Dean and I, got lost. We walked for some time, then he laid on the ground and did something and talked about north and south and how to use my pocket watch- my pocket watch! I dropped it outside!"

"Then what?" he asked louder, making her forget about the stupid watch.

"Then... there was a werewolf."

Hagrid stood from the huge stool he was seated, lacing his boots. He thundered over to her, his huge hand enveloping her whole head. If he only twitched his fingers, she knew her skull would be ground to dust.

"It bit you? Anywhere?"

She wanted to shake her head but didn't dare to do so. Instead, her weak voice blurted a negation. He did something with his hand, softly grazing her scalp, making her shiver in fright. He sighed and moved his hand away. Only then, she realized the half-giant had been patting her.

"And Dean?"

"He ran..."

He opened the door and stepped outside. The huge dog followed in silence. It was pitch black, the full moon hidden behind heavy clouds. The weather was changing, a cold wind blowing around the man and invading the hut.

"Stay here. Don't open the door. I'll find Dean."

He closed the door. Then he opened it again, looking a little bit awkward.

"There's tea in the pot... Uh... help yourself."

Then he closed the door again. Pansy braced her lithe body with her arms, shaking and moving from side to side without leaving her place. After a few minutes, she walked to the window and looked outside. There was nothing to see. The iron bar near the door was too heavy for her to raise. She pushed the stool until it was propped against the door.

Pansy was helping herself some tea when there was a knock on the glass. She almost dropped the ladle she had been using to pour tea into (the cups on the cupboard were the size of buckets and she feared not being strong enough to carry one to the table). Taking a spoon the size of a beater's bat, she backed away from the window.

"It's Pansy!" a muffled voice yelled from the other side of the glass. There was a human head pressed against the window but it was too dark outside to see it and the candlelight didn't reach it. "Pansy, it's me, Hannah!"

Feeling her heart slow down as fear left her, Pansy ran to the door and pushed the table-sized stool away a little bit, letting the door open a sliver. Hannah Abbot's white face was full of worry.

"Pansy! Why are you here? Is Dean with you?"

"Where are the others?" she asked instead of answering. Hannah glanced back.

"We are all here. Just you two were missing. We ran away from the Forest, Parvati wanted to go back for you but we didn't know where you both went to... We ran with the dragon to the exchanging point and left it with the guys. We thought about asking Hagrid for help but you are already here!"

Pansy stepped away from the door and the other four members of their disastrous expedition filed in. Parvati hugged her, ignoring the mud and the filth and any House division. Pansy had been raised as a strong, proud Pureblood witch. She had learned since birth how to be stoic, cold and unforgiving. All of that melted away for an instant and she hugged her back, allowing herself to cry herself out for the first time since her ordeal.

* * *

Harry, Daphne and Hermione vaulted the largest chunks of broken stone. The chess board looked more like a battlefield after the enraged pieces were defeated. The small corridor linking the two rooms was a blessing, not even a single piece could fit into it, allowing them to aim and destroy their enemies leisurely. Of course, the hundred or so powerful spells had wiped their strength. While magic couldn't be depleted, as it wasn't a measurable, physical existence, wielding it demanded a huge amount of concentration. Without the Stone fragments to boost the correct parts of their brain, a wizard's ability with magic was more about his focusing and concentration powers than anything else.

The result of using too much magic in such a short time was a tremendous headache and some bouts of vertigo. They shared a potion for the migraines while they ran to the next room but it could only take away the pain, not the feeling of exhaustion in their heads. Among the three of them, Hermione had the best natural concentration and so she could handle magic for the longest. Yet, even Hermione was feeling the dizziness and nausea one would feel after such an ordeal. If they pushed it a little bit more, they would fall in magical exhaustion, their brains shutting down all non-vital functions to rest and repair itself. Then, everything they had done so far would be for nought and Azkaban would be their destination once again.

There would be no returning trip, then.

"We are taking turns from now on," he ordered, grasping the door handle. "The next challenge will use Daphne's magic. The next one mine and the next Hermione's, then we cycle back again, okay? We can't faint here and it will be even worse if we faint all at the same time. There shouldn't be many more challenges but let's rest while the designed person deals with the obstacle.

The girls nodded, taking a deep breath before they unlocked the door together. The stench of decay and rotten meat assaulted them immediately, like an almost physical punch to the gut. Hermione retched loudly while Daphne stumbled back almost fainting.

There was movement on the other side of the short corridor but the stench in the air made the walk unbearable. The thing moving was so heavy it couldn't possibly pass through the door. Harry had nothing in his rucksack to filter the air. Hermione probably knew a spell to do it but she was too occupied throwing up near the door. Wetting his handkerchief with his water bottle and pressing it against his mouth and nose, he walked forward.

As he reached the middle of the corridor, lights sprout out on the next room, just like it had done in the previous chambers. A low, heavy grunt floated from the door in front of him. Strangely, it was already open. Feeling cautious, Harry dropped the Invisibility Cloak over the three of them, packing them tight and walking slowly. The stench was unbearable but Hermione had recovered enough, a simple spell from her wand sucking the heavy air around them and refreshing it. Harry poked his invisible head into the room.

There were blood and excrement everywhere, splinters of wood covering the floor, probably from the destroyed door. On the other side of the large chamber, a deformed gap on the wall signalled where the other door once stood, the stone doorframe broken and ruined. The torches were high, near the ceiling, probably the only reason they had survived.

The guardian of the room walked in circles, its heavy steps shaking the ground. It was the source of the stench, a huge mountain Troll easily two times larger and taller than the one that had attacked Hermione on Halloween. It was covered in iron armour and dragged an iron mace adorned with large spikes behind it. Its tiny head was encased in a helmet, only its retarded eyes visible. Behind him, Hermione gasped. Harry squinted his eyes under the shifting, low light to better observe the monster and soon saw what she had seen.

The Troll wasn't _wearing_ the armour, instead, plaques of iron had been nailed directly to his skin and bones in a crude fashion. Some kind of chainmail was under it, covering the skin between the plaques, but the iron was so tight against his body that the links forming the chainmail would be digging on his flesh under the plaques. Even its fingers were covered, twisting the hand out of shape. The tortured creature probably depended on magic and its own absurd resistance to pain to continue walking. As it circled the room again, Harry theorized the walk itself was the product of some kind of curse, as it never strayed from a perfect circle. Blood dripped from the gaps of its armour, excrement falling behind it as it couldn't stop his watch even to relieve himself. On the next round, its trunk-like legs would push it away from the circle.

Hermione was frowning, she had always been a stout supporter of animal and magical beasts rights. She would regularly do way worse to the human subjects in her lab so she never found the need to hurt the poor creatures that couldn't retaliate. She unconsciously raised her wand, preparing a spell to end the agony of the guardian.

"Wait!" Harry ordered but it was too late. She tossed the cloak aside and threw a spell at it.

The sickly yellow light of the severing curse crossed the room at the speed of sound, its arch unseen by Harry with his normal, human eyes. Once, a spell so slow would be a child's play to dodge but the gap between a normal wizard and one carrying Fragments was just too large. The spell could easily be misrecognized as a charm as it looked as instantaneous as one. The curse, however, was for nought.

With a clang, the Troll's head was tossed backwards, the nightmarish armour bracing the severing curse like it was nothing. Instead of putting it down, Hermione's spell just enraged it and pinpointed where the target was.

Roaring so loud Harry thought his eardrums would rip, the Troll charged at them, raising its mace over his helmet with unnatural speed. The armour probably wasn't the only improvement the Troll had received. Tossing the cloak aside, they scattered inside the room, their shoes skidding on the excrement and pebbles. Just like a normal Troll, the creature was slow on the uptake, its mace shattering the ground on impact where they were standing a moment before.

Harry threw four curses in quick succession but only one had some effect, pulling the monster's right leg under him. The armour withstood any destructive spell and nullified the effects of environmental ones like the freezing curse. On his other side, Hermione had tried some charms, none of it had any effect whatsoever.

Daphne was the first to try to use the room itself against its guardian, swirling part of the debris around its leg and melding them together using transfiguration. The Troll roared even louder, standing on his right knee while his left leg was encased in stone, its back turned to the invaders. It wildly swung the mace, damaging the wall, the front doorway and the stone flooring.

They were already running towards the other doorway when it freed itself on brute strength alone, forcing its knees to stand straight. With a gut-wrenching sound, the encased leg was ripped apart, freeing it. Rotten blood gushed out of the mutilated leg, its foot and part of the calf missing along with the armour. The pain must have been unbearable as the Troll's screams shook the room and made them dizzy.

Daphne tried to use the debris again but the Troll seemed more intelligent than most of its species and used the mace to sweep the largest pieces away from them. It couldn't stand anymore, crawling forward using one leg and one hand, the other swinging down the mace. Blood, pus and drool flying from the grate over its mouth. Harry transfigured the stone into faux-quicksand under the mace, taking it from the monster. His victory was fleeting, as the creature used its now free hand to attack.

Daphne's screams reverberated inside the chamber when the Troll's fingers snaked around her, its hand so huge only her head and left arm were free from its tightening grip. Harry hurled a dozen of different curses on its helmet, obtaining some results as they impacted with great force on the Troll's skull, distracting it.

"HERMIONE! HELP HER!" He shouted but Hermione was standing on the back of the room, silent and unmoving. Her wand was drawing patterns on the air, her lips moving non-stop, her eyes closed. A breeze swept through her curling hair, flapping her short skirt and open blazer. Harry had seen that stand so many times but his brain was slow to recognize it.

A ritual. Hermione Granger, without her Fragments and on the brink of magical exhaustion was preparing a ritual. While Harry had seen her use them mostly in very difficult healing procedures, a streaming of Ancient Greek pouring from her in a ritualistic chant deeper and more powerful than any spell chant, he knew she had learned some dangerous rituals from Flamel's ancient books when she worked in the laboratory. After she had fled from that cursed life, she had taught him some about them. About their unparalleled power, monstrous difficulty and the fatal dangers of someone interrupting a ritual chant.

He needed to save Daphne before Hermione killed everything standing on the room.

Harry ran towards the Troll and jumped on its fist, physically trying to pull its fingers apart, releasing Daphne. As his strength was just like any other 11-year-old's, it was futile. The Troll couldn't use its other hand as it was propping its body up. Instead, it shook the hand gripping the girl and carrying the annoying boy, roaring and spitting on them. There were plaques of iron nailed to its phalanxes, chainmail covering the gaps between them. Harry used his most dangerous severing curse on them, ripping apart the links and exposing the greyed skin underneath. Ignoring the safety procedures the Professors had hammered on them during the entire first term, he stabbed the Troll's flesh with his wand and cast another severing curse.

The backslash threw Harry backwards, the impact on the floor robbing the air from his lungs, he rolled for some instants before stopping. The Troll's roars were even louder, Harry swept the blood from his eyes and saw one of the monster's fingers was almost entirely severed, hanging on the knuckle by a strip of flesh. Daphne could move better but she was still in its grip. Under the pain-filled sounds of the monster, Harry could hear Hermione's voice.

She was reaching the end of the ritual. Daphne seemed to have already grasped what the older girl was doing and was struggling to free herself. Despair filled Harry, he scrambled to his feet and pointed his wand to the monster. The only gap on its armour was the severed finger but it was too close to Daphne. If the Troll moved its hand or his aim wavered, he could kill the girl with his spell. Screaming in frustration, he charged forward again.

A burst of flames attacked the Troll, fire so blue it boiled the head inside the helmet in instants. The Troll's roars became pure pain and its mauled hand opened, the palm slamming against the white-hot iron helmet. Harry threw a cushioning charm under the screaming blonde girl. She fell on soft ground and scrambled away from the Troll, crawling on the floor. Harry reached her and threw her over his shoulder, running away as fast as his tired legs could.

The Troll screamed itself hoarse, standing on its knees and clawing with its both hands on the helmet. Harry raised his wand, seeing an opportunity to try and slash the monster's throat.

Hermione ended her ritual with a mighty scream, splitting the air with magic and electricity. Near the ceiling, the torches snuffed out and a gap opened in the air. Harry threw himself on the floor, Daphne under his body. He pressed his palms on his ears, closing his eyes.

The lightning bolt was printed on his eyes even under the eyelids, the sound impacting his body like as a physical blow. His body convulsed when the electricity coursed through his nerves. Every hair on his body stood up and he smelled something burning.

Opening his eyes, there was only darkness. His gut froze for a second when he thought he had become blind. Daphne used a _lumus_ under him and Harry expelled his breath in relief when the bluish light illuminated them. His eyes were burning a little and he couldn't hear a thing, blood pouring from his ears. After taking a few deep breaths, there was a pop as his magic repaired the soft tissue of his eardrums and sound rushed back around them.

He used his own torchlight spell and ran towards the fallen mountain that was the Troll. The smell of charred meat was even worse than the stench of shit and sweat from before, the thing was dead, burned to a crisp by the lightening bolt Hermione's ritual produced. Instead of wasting time with the abhorrent thing, he forced his aching body to run to the older girl's side.

She was crumpled on the floor like a rag doll. Her skin was clammy, grey and covered in cold sweat but he could feel her pulse. Daphne kneeled on the other side, sweeping the curly hair from Hermione's face. Her eyes were closed but kept moving rapidly under her twitching eyelids. There was blood running from her ears and nose. Daphne forced an eyelid open, the honey-coloured eye under it was murky and unfocused. She used a handkerchief to clean the girl's face.

"Magical exhaustion," she diagnosed. "She needs a lot of rest but will be fine."

Harry sighed. He tried to carry her but his body was too tired. After finding the rucksack he retrieved the last Pepper-Up Potion.

"You shouldn't drink it, you already drunk one not half an hour ago," Daphne probably knew how ironic it was for her to admonish him on the dangers of excessive potion use. He offered her a tired smile.

"Just a sip for both of us. We need to finish this soon and take her to the Infirmary."

With a sigh, she nodded and drank after him. They propped Hermione on the wall, seated near the broken doorway. After checking her vitals again and leaving the last water bottle near her, in the hope she would recover her conscious soon, they trudged over the rubble and entered the next room.

As soon as they crossed the remaining door, at the end of the short corridor, black flames erupted around the door, covering the hole and locking them inside the next challenge room. On the other side, the next doorway was also hidden behind huge black flames.

The walls were lined with shelves, from the floor all the way up to the high ceiling. On the shelves, there were rows upon rows of bottles, jars, goblets, cups, vases, glasses and even something he recognized as a cut of bamboo. Some were transparent, others opaque, every single one of them filled with all kinds of liquids, from beverages that looked just like water to glowing concoctions that only a Potion Master could brew. On the centre of the room, there was a low table where a roll of parchment was resting.

Harry broke the wax seal and unrolled it. Snape's tiny handwriting filled the long roll with a series of instructions, clues, trivia on potions and complex diagrams.

"It's a logic test," Harry muttered, startling Daphne. She had been looking at her own hands since they entered the short corridor. "For fuck's sake, Hermione is the only one that could solve this shit."

"Let me take a look," Daphne offered, tearing her gaze from her fingers. "Yep, I can't even pronounce some of those words. We have no fucking chance of solving this."

Harry fought the urge of kicking the table. Motherfucker Snape and his cunning ways. Wizards were all about power, magic and knowledge, after all. No one had time for riddles and word games. He wanted to wrangle that pale and oily neck. Harry raised his wand.

"I'm doing the same as Hermione, pouring all my magic on a destructive spell. You go forth after I faint and retrieve the Stone, okay?"

"Harry... do you trust me?"

Harry paused.

"Yes, Daphne."

"Then give me your hand. Here, just stand near the door... Now I'm going to wrap my arms around you while I'm at your back..."

"Hmm, Daphne, why are we cuddling in the middle of the robbery?"

"Shut up, I need to concentrate. That fire... The fire I threw on the Troll... it didn't use my wand... When I was sure I would die from Hermione's ritual I felt something... _click_ inside me... And I felt the fire inside once again. I felt the Veela fire..."

Harry tensed up when blue flames appeared on her skin, dancing on her arms and around them. Daphne had used passionfire, a Veela unique magic, against him more than once. It was hot enough to consume flesh and bone in a second, only quick, powerful magic and strong legs could save a man from death when fighting a Veela. She was enveloping them inside a blue flame, sweat poured down his neck even if he couldn't feel the heat yet.

She forced them to walk forward, getting nearer and nearer to the black flame.

"Daphne...?"

"Veela don't use fire. Veela are fire. The flame of our magic won't lose to anything... We burn the world and nothing can stop us."

The black flames attacked the blue fire, a sizzling sound echoed through the corridor. Daphne forced them to march forward, the blue fire smothering the enchanted flames against the wall. Blue and black never mixed, and blue swept black from their way. Her arms around him were strong, her perfume around his head, playing with his nose. There was a strength to her bones that wasn't there before. They didn't open the next door, instead, they _bored_ through it, the blue flame eating the wood like a hot knife cutting butter.

The black flames were behind them. Daphne released him and stood alone as he stumbled forward into the room. He turned back in time to see her, blonde hair and icy eyes, fully encased inside a teardrop-shaped blue flame, like an ancient goddess of fire. She opened her arms and a burst of wind dispelled the flame.

On her back, small wings opened up, pure golden just like her hair. They were smaller than he remembered, more fit to a child than a teenager. However, they weren't just cute but also terrifying, the metallic shine of her feathered wings giving her figure an unnatural look, forcing him to remember she wasn't just a witch but also a magical creature, a thing made of flesh, bone and magic from ancient times.

Once, Daphne had told him the figures associated with angels were taken from pagan cultures. The angels of ancient religions were simple balls of light or faces covered in wings. Humans carrying large feathered wings came from even older mythologies, the memories of humankind which not even the Statute of Secrecy could erase. In those ancient ages, those winged humans weren't messengers of gods but the battle hordes that could wipe out an entire army with a single gesture. As her wings folded and the trails of blue fire faded in the air, Harry could understand why those ancient poor sods feared and revered those warriors.

For the first time since they crossed dimensions, there was a fire in her icy-blue eyes. It wasn't the rage that sometimes took over her, neither it was the flame of lust no living thing in Earth could sate, just fight against. Instead, it was the fire of Veela, the eyes of a devouring flame encased in a human body. She walked towards him, a predator with a target in sight.

As her lips and tongue crashed over him, the force of her Allure washed his body and mind. Male, female and their children, no creature in the world could resist a Veela's Allure. There was a legend among wizards about men who were immune to it but that was just a myth. The Allure was like a suggestion, a voice in the mind asking for more than a man could give, so beautiful and needy it was impossible to deny its wishes. A man of stone will could ignore it. But it was just a matter of time.

As her nails tore the back of his cloak, as she traced lines of pain on the back of his head, as her lips seared his mouth with fire, he faintly remembered the laughable idea that Veela liked men able to resist the Allure. As if they searched for mates they couldn't influence, refusing to settle down with those weak-willed enough to fall for their schemes. Such a beautiful thing it would be if it were true. Well, Veela indeed preferred those who could fight their Allure. They enjoyed breaking them the most.

Harry forced his hand away from her small breast and up her clavicle, his fingers soaring in search of relief. She bit him, hard enough to draw blood while she did her best to tear his hair from his scalp in her frenzy. His hand closed around her swan neck and he tightened his first. She hissed against him, fire sprouting from her arms, her small wings fluttering in rage. With a mighty push, he held her away, his arm tight and his grip firm on her throat. Daphne clawed his arm in rage, her eyes burning with blue fire. She tried to scream but he was almost crushing her windpipe. Harry reached inside his frayed mind for magic and called for a burst of power. It was weak as a child's but it washed over her, snapping the blonde Veela out of her daze.

She slumped, his unrelenting grip the only thing keeping her standing. After an instant, her wings closed and disappeared, her claws receded to manicured nails and her hair fell down limply. She tapped his arm and he let her go. Daphne fell to her knees, gasping for air. Her tear-filled eyes still burned with Veela fire but it was controlled. Her Allure subsided, the litany of orders inside his mind becoming once again the familiar begging whispers. The ones he could ignore after some practice.

He finally could turn around and take in the last chamber of challenge. The one that must hold the Stone and their entire future. It was empty, except for a large object in its middle. Harry sighed.

"Of course it's the fucking mirror again."

* * *

Somehow, Pansy had found herself in the role of host, pouring tea for everyone. She had finally noticed the mud in her hair, face, neck, collar, torso, underpants, clothes, legs and shoes. Hannah had helped her to wash some of it on a tin basin filled with cold water. She was drying her hair using a tea-cloth instead of a towel. As it was a half-giant's house, the tea-cloth was larger than any towel she had ever used in the dorms.

There was a thump outside and a howl that made every hair on her body to stand. Fortunately, Su Li recognized it as dog howl instead of- some other thing. Someone pushed the door, easily opening it even with the table-sized stool propped against it. Pansy felt it like a bruise on her pride even if only a half-giant would be able to open it under such blockade. Hagrid sighed heavily upon seeing them.

"This' madness!" He said with a gruff. "W'at are y'all doing here? Children need to be in 'er beds!"

"They came looking for me, Mr Hagrid," Pansy explained. "Merlin, is this-?"

There was a bundle on his enormous hands. Hagrid thumped towards the couch and gently deposited it on the pillows. The boy was quivering and twitching, Pansy was at his side before anyone could even move.

There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his shirt was soaked on it. Twigs and small leaves were tangled in his short, curly hair, mud covering every inch of his clothes. The damn boy probably had stopped on another puddle to mask his smell. Or had fallen down in one in his fright. She raised her hand to sweep them from his hair but Hagrid caught her entire arm in his fingers. It was gentle, as if he was trying to hold the wings of a butterfly. She raised her gaze to his sad, incredibly sad eyes. They were black, just like her Head of House's but instead of rage and contempt, they were filled with warmth, innocence and profound grief.

"You," he said in a low voice, pointing to Su Li. "Bring 'ere sum parchment 'n' quill."

She grabbed the writing utensils that were on the high table and walked to the huge man. Hagrid let Pansy's arm go, wrote a short message and looked up. The owl on the ceiling rafter flew down, took the letter on her beak and exited the hut by the open door. Hagrid looked around for the stool, gave up and sat cross-legged on the floor. No one tried to move. Pansy watched the boy's laboured breath.

"Why was a werewolf in the Forest?"

Hagrid kept his silence for almost an entire minute, just watching the boy on his couch.

"The Forest doesn't judge," he said, his voice clear and low as if he imparted some old wisdom on them. "Good or bad, creature or monster... Everything ends when yo' enter the Forest. Sum come, every year... and disappear inside it. And 'eir shame disappear with'em."

They stood in silence for what seemed to be hours or days, instead, the darkness of the night hadn't changed much when a sound startled the children. A witch in white entered the hut still mounted on a broom, a big handbag swinging in front of her, tied to the wooden shaft by its handle. The witch Pansy recognized as Madam Pomfrey, the school matron.

"Since when?" She asked, ignoring the children out of their beds. She marched towards the boy in long strides, her non-nonsense tone oddly calming. As if she recognized there was a lot of wrong things in the world in that instant and she needed to know what to fix first.

"Sum hours," Hagrid answered. "Shoulder."

She opened the handbag and took a pair of silver scissors from it. Gently, she cut open his cloak and undershirt, exposing the dark skin underneath. Even under the low light from the candles, Pansy could see the semi-circle of wounds on his left shoulder and chest. The marks of teeth. Her knees buckled under her. She heard loud retching. Hannah was emptying her stomach on the floor.

Madam Pomfrey poured potions on the wound, one after the other, then a whole lot of gauze, the thin cloth soaking from the concoctions. She kept piling them manually until almost his entire torso was under them. After that, a simple movement from her wand made a roll of bandage float over the boy. Another spell rose his body from the couch, his small figure hovering over the pillows. The bandage darted around him, flying under his body and over the chest, bandaging it tightly. When it was done, the body floated down and sunk on the overstuffed cushions again.

"He needs to be moved to the Infirmary now," she announced, waving her wand towards the bag. It enlarged to let a stretcher fly from it, speeding through the air and stopping suddenly, hovering just beside the couch. Madam Pomfrey floated the boy again, depositing him on the stretcher. She closed her bag with a click and mounted her broom.

"Madam Pomfrey, is he going to be alright?" Pansy asked.

The woman finally noticed the children in the giant's hut. Her eyes were sharp and serious. She would tell their Heads of House, no doubt about it. Pansy couldn't care less. Finally, she nodded.

"The boy was bitten by a werewolf," she confirmed, the last of Pansy's strength leaving her. The silence in the hut was oppressive. "He will survive this night but he will carry the marks for the rest of his life... Along with the curse."

Pansy closed her eyes. A multitude of thoughts crossed her mind, screaming for attention. She wanted to lie down and sleep, sleep for a long, long, long time. And then, wake up and realize everything had been just a very strange dream.

When she opened her eyes, Madam Pomfrey and Dean were gone. In their place, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall was standing in the doorway, a cloak was thrown haphazardly over her sleeping robe, her long hair untied from the usual bun. Her nostrils flared in rage. The night had been very long, and Pansy realized it was still far from ending.

* * *

"Fucking stupid mirror!" Harry raged, feeling like cursing it. "Fucking Dumbledore did something to it, what the fuck is this?"

"You need to widen your vocabulary for curses," Daphne commented. She was kneeling on the floor, still trying to reign the Veela in.

"I can see the fucking Stone," Harry shouted. "I'm using it! I'm using it to make gold! I'm drinking from it! Why am I doing this shit? Dumbledore must have enchanted the mirror!"

"You said you saw this mirror before? Before you know what?"

"No, during the Christmas holidays. I saw it inside one of the abandoned classrooms, Dumbledore caught me and we talked about it. It was obvious it was a setup. Of course I would see the fucking mirror again."

"Why didn't you tell us about it?"

"It showed me... personal things."

"We were fucking?"

"In very explicit ways, I never knew Hermione could be so flexible."

Daphne huffed.

"You are horrible at lying, just like Hermione. Come on, give me a hand up. I want to try it."

"Dumbledore said it shows us our deepest desires..."

"And yours is to drink from the Stone? Are you retarded?"

"Dumbledore obviously enchanted this shit. What do you think you will see?"

"I- I... I won't ask about yours, you don't ask about mine?"

"Fair enough. Here, you have to stand in the centre in front of it. Tell me if you see something that could be a clue."

"I... I'm just seeing myself. I'm clean. I have my adult wings. Ohhh, I'm so buying this dress if I ever find it in the real world, it does wonders to my breasts... In fact, I'm reaching my cleavage... Wait!"

She watched in shock for a moment, then turned her face to him. Her expression was horrified. Harry was about to question her when her trembling hand moved to her collar. Her fingers reached inside her cloak and she fiddled a little bit. When she removed her hand, there was a red jewel on it.

"It was between my breasts," she muttered in horror. "Albus Dumbledore enchanted the Stone to appear between my breasts. He designed this spell on the mirror so the Stone would appear between my breasts..."

She shuddered in disgust.

"I need a shower. Here, take it, don't ever come near me with that!"

"Oh, come on!" Harry urged, taking the Stone in his hand. He had never seen it whole before. It was a little bit larger than a chicken egg, oval-shaped like a jewel, deep red in colour and smooth to the touch. While it was solid, its interior shifted at every moved of his hand, as if it was liquid. He felt it heavy on his palm, the weight of an entire lifetime of hurt, power and pain. "I'm sure it was just a coincidence."

"How would you feel if Albus Dumbledore carefully enchanted it to appear under your ballsack when you needed it the most?"

Harry ignored his own shiver and dumped the contents of his rucksack on the floor. He piled up the potions and the fireworks.

"You reckon this mirror is probably a one-of-a-kind ancient magical artefact and we are probably destroying it?" Daphne asked using her conversational tone. Harry nodded. "We won't ever be able to tell Hermione this, will we?"

"Not a thing. Have some fire?"

"Funny guy," she barked, sending a stream of blue fire to the nearest wick. It hissed. Harry pocketed the Stone and reached for her hand.

"Let's run!"

They pumped through the last chamber and the corridor now devoid of magical fire, Harry carelessly threw the still knocked-out Hermione on his shoulder, not breaking his march. They passed through the empty, dark Troll room, avoiding the charred body and the debris scattered around. The next room was full of broken stone too. At that moment, an explosion shook the entire corridor, a roar of flames too close for comfort echoing in the hall. They sped up.

They needed to take turns on the single broom left, to cross the keys room. First Harry with Hermione, then Harry with Daphne. The girl kept the broom, Harry once again running with Hermione on his shoulder. They crossed the small corridor, entered the room with the withered Devil's Snare and risked an overcrowded flight on the broom. It buckled and groaned under the heavy load but hovered steadily to the ceiling. Harry used a spell to open the trapdoor. Daphne's singing voice floated through the hole, keeping the Cerberus at bay. The broom lost the last of its enchantments just as they exited the hidden chamber, the dog was sleeping soundly again. When they closed the trapdoor, the sea of flames was already raising inside the first chamber. Harry saw molten rock and golden keys floating on it, the cursed liquid fire eating everything in its path and increasing in size and power. Maybe he had miscalculated the amount needed to burn their evidence, it was better to get out of the corridor before it reached the dog.

They opened the door of the Forbidden Corridor, stepping into the hall. A single figure was standing there, surprising the two of them. The door behind it was locked, its wand was raised and pointing at him.

"Harry Potter," Professor Quirrell said. "Thank you for bringing the Stone to me."

* * *

AN: Hello again, this month flew by and I did almost nothing! Well, the story is finally ending for now, so I'm doing my best to edit and curate the last chapters. There are only 2 more to go!

Also, I want to report that, on 31st, I'm going to publish a Halloween special One-Shot, under the title "The Concordat". So, I recommend you follow my works to find it. As I'm in Brazil (GMT -3) I have no idea if it will still be Halloween wherever you are when I post it :( It will be an entire story in the "other world". It's not necessary to understand TFE but I think it will answers some of the questions we have so far (and raise others!).

Thanks a bunch and I'm answering all the reviews in a bit. See you next chapter!

BTW: One of TFE's rules of thumb:

Fear the Veela.


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